


Insurgence of Obscurity

by Mariico



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 05:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 44,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mariico/pseuds/Mariico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>2012 Secret Santa Tomione Fic Exchange - gift for Doom</p><p>All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doorstepofdoom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doorstepofdoom/gifts), [Tomione_Forum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomione_Forum/gifts).



> @ g!ft 4 d00m. u r @w3sum. H0p3 u lyk !t.
> 
> **For my convenience, Polyjuice Potion has been changed to have an effect over an entire day rather than just an hour**
> 
> Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**_ Insurgence of Obscurity _ **

 

 _ **Chapter One**_

 

“Work harder!”

Hermione felt the whip sting against her back, and had to stop herself from crying out in pain. The flimsy rags that she had to wear bore no protection against the sharp leather as it slashed down repeatedly on her skin. Hermione had learned over the years, though, that offering any kind of protest or letting any pain show was the best way to further motivate her torturer. If she knew what was best for her, she would keep her mouth shut and just accept it.

Augustus Rookwood, her master, sneered down at her. He was wearing the long, billowy wizard robes that Hermione wanted to wear so badly. However, she knew that it was a mere fantasy; she was a lowly slave while he was one of the most respected purebloods in society. Their social statuses were miles apart.

“I’m sorry, Master,” Hermione whispered in submission, never taking her eyes from the ground. While she was relatively new to the whole slave aspect of life compared to the other girls, she knew that eye contact was as good as a death wish. It pained her to act so weak, but she knew it was the only way to keep herself from getting hurt even worse. Purebloods did everything they could to show themselves as superior to muggleborns and, more importantly, _women_ , and they regarded eye contact as a sign of equality.

“Get back to work, you little shit.” Rookwood growled at her. “Do you think I don’t see you slacking off? Do you think I’m blind?” Hermione hurriedly shook her head, but she knew her response didn’t matter to him. He was already angry, and the only way to quell his raging emotions was to let him unleash them on her via the whip until he was satisfied.

He lashed down again, and Hermione had to clench her teeth to prevent herself from crying out in pain. Her knuckles tightened around the piece of cloth she had been using to wipe the floors, turning almost white. “I see you looking at the books as if you can read,” Rookwood snarled, emphasizing each word with a lash. “Did you think you could understand them?” He smirked down at her, not waiting for her to answer. “Stupid mudblood. You can’t do anything.”

With a malicious smile on his face, he kicked her so that she ended up sprawled on the floor. Her back ached, and she was sure that there were at least three gashes where blood was freely flowing, dripping onto the floor. Rookwood laughed cruelly, and for a second, Hermione thought he was going to continue with his torture. She wasn’t sure how much more she could withstand before she cracked.

However, fortunately, he eventually decided that she wasn’t worth his time and that he had better things to do. With a sneer and a couple more threats, he departed, leaving Hermione to groan softly on the kitchen floor.

As soon as Rookwood was out of sight, her fellow servants scuttled out from their hiding places. When she had first arrived at the manor, she was offended that they didn’t stand up for her. They were supposed to stand up for each other, weren’t they? But after a while, she knew that it was perfectly reasonable for them to hide. There was no way they could stand up to Rookwood, and any efforts would be wasted. It was better if less people were hurt, anyway, and she wouldn’t have let them suffer because Rookwood was angry at her.

“Hermione!” The mother of their little group, Hannah Abbott, crawled out from her spot under the sink and was the first to reach the bleeding girl. She pressed a cool cloth to her back, and Hermione grimaced as it stung her wounds. “Are you alright?”

“Of course she isn’t alright. Does she _look_ alright to you?” Bella rolled her eyes. Every since Hermione had arrived at the Rookwood manor, she had learned it was best to steer away from the girl. She was problematic, always trying to pick fights and taunting everyone else. Only Hannah could control her, and even her grasp on Bella was very unstable.

Hermione had had to hold back her fiery hot temper on multiple occasions, but found that Bella knew how to push just the right buttons. Sometimes, she had almost lashed out and tackled the girl outright, but Hannah held her back, reminding her that physical fighting was immoral. However, when Bella and her fat mouth just wouldn’t shut up, Hermione entertained the thought of disobeying Hannah’s order just for once.

She reminded herself that Bella wasn’t worth a punch from her, but looking at Bella’s haughty expression, she often wanted to quit thinking for once and just let her body follow its impulses.

Hannah merely ignored Bella and continued patching up Hermione’s wounds. “Lavender, be a dear and go get me something to wrap these with.” The little girl, barely older than six, nodded before scuttling off.

“How stupid can you get?” Bella had decided that she had nothing better to do with her time than to stay and annoy Hermione. Hermione gritted her teeth, but tried to keep her anger inside. She was wounded. There was no need to start a fight now. Not that she was afraid that she would lose, because she wouldn’t, but because she didn’t want to hurt herself even more than she already had.

“Bella,” Hannah reprimanded. “Be nice.” She looked down at Hermione. “This will hurt a bit, dear.” Before Hermione could respond, she felt something hard jab at her wounds. She let out a small gasp of pain, slightly annoyed that Bella was here to watch her moment of vulnerability.

Bella smirked, as if enjoying the show. The girl was about the same age as Hermione, though she had been working as a slave for a lot longer than Hermione had. Unlike most other girls, Hermione had been taken when she was eleven. Most girls were made slaves at birth, but since her parents were muggles, she hadn’t been deemed a threat until she had started showing signs of magic.

All magical girls were considered threats. Upon birth, all daughters were forced into slavery. Their only job in life was to be a servant, and reproduce should her owner want her to. Other than that, there was no task for the women to do, and therefore, the wizarding world did not see it fit to give women more rights.

It was not a matter of blood statuses. Pureblood, half-blood and muggleborn women were all treated the same. It was a matter of gender.

The Ministry monitored muggleborns less strictly than the others, just because it was extremely rare for a witch to appear from two non-magical people. That was why Hermione hadn’t been taken until she was eleven, and by then, she had already received some education. Unlike the other girls, she could read and write quite decently.

She did not know much about magic. She had never held a wand before, and while she had looked at some incantations for spells in books, she still didn’t know the proper wand movements. Magic was the only way she could escape this place. Rookwood didn’t even know she could read, so he was underestimating her greatly. However, all the men guarded wands heavily, making sure to keep them away from the women.

For now, she was trapped here, resigned to her punishment. She would have to deal with the tortures that Rookwood dealt to her until she could get herself out, or a savior could come and rescue her.

If that would ever happen.

“Hmph.” Bella sneered, as Lavender came back with some bandages, trying to avoid the bigger girl. But Bella deliberately stepped in front of Lavender, grinning as the little girl visibly cowered in fear. Bella, on the other hand, just seemed amused. “Going somewhere, little Lav?”

“Go find someone your own size to pick on, Bella.” Ginny Weasley appeared out of nowhere. She had been assigned to clean the upper floors. When she saw Hermione, she gasped and roughly pushed Bella aside, ignoring the other girl’s hostile glare. Instead, she quickly dropped down next to Hannah and squeezed Hermione’s hand.

“Hey, Gin,” Hermione said weakly. Over the years, Ginny had become her best friend. She knew that her family was unlike the rest. Arthur Weasley truly loved his wife, and the two of them had produced many able sons over the years. They had wanted to keep Ginny as well, but the law forced them to hand her over to the government, where she was assigned to the Rookwood manor.

Ginny’s family was the only reason that she still had faith in wizards. That there were still some men out there who appreciated women for who they were, and not for their usefulness as slaves. And judging from the way Ginny described her brothers, the whole Weasley family was quite different from the rest.

“Hermione, how many times do I have to tell you to stop egging him on?” Ginny scolded. Although those were words that Bella would’ve said, Hermione felt herself smiling; unlike Bella, Ginny meant well. It pained her to see Hermione getting hurt every day, just as it pained Hermione to watch Ginny being tortured.

“I wasn’t egging him on, Gin. I was just staring for a little too long at the book in the living room.” Hermione shrugged. “He caught me. I’ll be more careful next time.” She caught Ginny’s frown. “Come on, Gin, I’ll just avert my eyes faster. It’s not like he can see everything.”

She hadn’t told Ginny that she could read and write. She didn’t know why she kept it from her. It wasn’t because she didn’t trust Ginny, but perhaps Hermione believed that it was a secret that she would never tell. It was the only thing she had to remind herself that she, and all women elsewhere, were not fit to be slaves. They could learn just as men could.

Ginny opened her mouth to respond, but Bella cut her off. “Stupid is as stupid does,” Bella sneered, plucking the bandages out of Lavender’s small hands and tossing them into the trash. The little girl protested, but Bella just shoved her aside. “Don’t touch me, you mudblood. You have no right to spread your filth on my perfect skin.”

Lavender was too young to know what that word meant, but Hannah stood up quickly, a look of anger on her face. “Bella! That is _enough_!” she yelled. Bella glared back, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Go to your room and stay there until I tell you to come out. This has gone too far. You’ve crossed the line.”

“Fine, I’ll go. I didn’t want to stay here and look at someone as ugly as _her_ , anyway.” Bella gestured to Hermione, who just scowled at her. She was about to leave, when she suddenly spun around and pointed an accusing finger at Hermione. “ _YOU!_ ” she screeched, and the other four girls jumped visibly at the volume of her voice. “ _You can’t control me! No one can control me!_ ” Before anyone could say anything else, she left the kitchen, stomping all the way down the stairs to the basement.

For a minute, there was silence. Then, Hannah let out a sigh and went back to her work, fishing the bandages out of the empty trash can before applying them to Hermione’s back. Hermione and Ginny exchanged looks and Ginny rolled her eyes; if possible, Ginny hated Bella even more than Hermione did. There had been a couple of occasions where it took nearly all the girls to pry Ginny off of Bella, while Bella just sat there, cackling rather insanely.

Hermione wondered why Rookwood hadn’t already sent her off and asked for a replacement. Perhaps he liked her insanity. The two of them certainly had a lot in common, that was for sure.

“The psychopath strikes again,” Ginny muttered under her breath when a long string of curses was heard from the floor below. Hermione supposed that she should feel lucky they even got a room to sleep in, but after living with Bella for five years, she wished to sleep anywhere but in the same room as the girl. Bella had a colorful vocabulary, and she wasn’t afraid to unleash it anywhere she went. The walls in the manor did _nothing_ to block out the sound. “She’s _insane_.”

“She is just troubled. That is all,” Hannah said. Ginny merely rolled her eyes, and Hermione couldn’t help but agree with her; they were _all_ troubled, but Bella took it to a whole new level. Everything she did was just terrible; there was no way she could use that excuse to weasel out of all the horrible actions she had committed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ginny scoffed, and then her face brightened considerably. “Hey, you’re all patched up! Nice work, Hannah.” The elder woman merely nodded, before standing up and heading back to do her other duties. Hermione shot Hannah a grateful smile, but she had already disappeared into the next room. It was a well-known fact that Hannah did not like Ginny as much as she liked the others. If Ginny was even the slightest bit bothered by this, though, she did not show it.

Hermione sat up and was glad that the pain on her back had reduced considerably. She stretched slightly and stood up, barely registering the sting on her back. Hannah had patched her up more times than she could count, and Hermione knew that the woman had saved her life multiple times already.

“Yay, my partner in crime is back.” Ginny grinned excitedly, starting to hug her, but then realized that it wouldn’t be a good idea given the condition of Hermione’s back. Instead, Ginny patted her shoulder awkwardly, before turning around, her eyes zeroing in on Lavender.

“Off you go. Nothing to see here.” Hermione had forgotten the little girl was even there. Lavender looked at Ginny, before switching her gaze to Hermione. Hermione could detect worry in her eyes, and it warmed her heart considerably.

“I’m alright now, Lav.” Hermione smiled gently and bent down to hug her. After a moment of hesitation, Lavender wrapped her arms around Hermione’s neck, making sure not to touch her back in any way. “Go play with your friends now. I’ll be okay.”

“Plus, she has me to look after her,” Ginny piped helpfully.

“That doesn’t reassure me in the least.” Hermione snorted, and Ginny mockingly placed a hand on her chest, over her heart. Lavender looked between them and then nodded, before skipping off to the next room. Hermione smiled as she watched her go; Lavender reminded her of herself when she was younger. The same innocence she had before she was taken away.

It was truly devastating to see someone as young as her being forced into labor.

“Now that we’ve gotten all that troubling sentimental stuff out of the way, who’s up for a little eavesdropping?” Ginny said cheerfully, heading towards the door. “Rookwood’s son is coming home from Hogwarts today. I bet he’ll have a lot of juicy gossip for us.” Ginny rolled her eyes when Hermione pointed towards her back. “Oh, quit that. You won’t be straining your back at all.”

“Gin, I’m handicapped.”

“You’re walking perfectly fine. Stop complaining.” Ginny dragged Hermione out of the kitchen. “Maybe little Augustus Jr. will have learned something at his school so we can listen to an intelligent conversation for once.” She giggled, more to herself than to Hermione. “On second thought, probably not.”

-

After yet another uninformative session of eavesdropping, Hermione said goodbye to Ginny to try to sneak off to the library. She didn’t know why Ginny kept insisting on listening in on the father-son conversations. They offered absolutely no information—the two of them just bragged to each other the whole time—and Ginny most likely couldn’t understand what was being said, anyway. Her parents had tried to teach her as much as they could, but they didn’t get very far before the government took her away.

Hermione’s parents, on the other hand, had had eleven years before Hermione was taken. However, she made sure that other people didn’t know that, always lying and saying that she was taken away and made into a slave at birth. She didn’t want other people to become suspicious of her, and she wanted even less to be punished just because she could read.

Hermione slipped quietly into the dimly lit library. It was such a shame that they never used a library so big—there had to be thousands of books in the room. But perhaps, it was better that they didn’t, or else she wouldn’t be able to sneak into the library every night. It was always empty when she arrived, so she could often spend hours there just by herself, enjoying the company of books.

She had discovered the room accidently when she was sweeping Rookwood’s bedroom. That was always a hassle, because he didn’t trust any of his servants enough. He always stood there, watching them as they worked, barking orders. Whenever they did something he didn’t like, he used his whip. That whip was his best friend; he carried it everywhere and didn’t hesitate to use it whenever he was unhappy.

When he was in a good mood—which he rarely was—he let them go after they finished their duties, barely minding them at all. Unfortunately, the majority of the times, he was quite angry when she went in, and he always made sure she made the room sparkle before dismissing her. The room itself was huge, and to go over the whole thing once already made Hermione more tired than ever. However, on the very worst days, he would make her clean it at least three times before he was satisfied.

It was on one of those particularly bad days that Hermione had trooped tiredly out of his room, wanting to just sag to the ground and curl up into a small ball. She was relieved that he had finally let her go, because she was sure that if she stayed in that room any longer, her hand would’ve fallen off due to fatigue.

She was so tired that she wanted nothing more than to return to her room and fall asleep on the floor. Surprisingly, her feet wouldn’t stop moving. They seemed particularly active while the rest of her body was almost asleep. Hermione’s brain let her feet control her movements while it dozed off.

Hermione didn’t know where she was going, and soon the familiar corridors vanished and she was greeted with new hallways that she had never seen before. She knew that she would get in trouble for continuing onwards, and she should just turn around and walk back, but she reasoned with herself that she was already lost, so she might as well keep going on. Plus, her curiosity was already piqued; there was no stopping her now. Her parents always said that it was her biggest weakness, but she supposed that it was not a bad one.

When she got to the end of a long hallway after taking several turns and twists, Hermione arrived in front of a huge, black door. After debating with herself for quite a while, she finally decided to take the risk and open it, praying that Rookwood wasn’t behind the door with his whip, ready to punish her for venturing in to a part of the mansion that she wasn’t supposed to.

However, she was glad that she had decided to go in. Behind the big black door were bookshelves filled with rows and rows of books, stacked neatly next to each other. She had found the Rookwood library.

Ever since then—that day more than three years ago—she kept coming to the library whenever she had free time. She made up stories every time someone questioned her. Ginny, especially, grew slightly suspicious of her slipping away every evening, but there was nothing she could do about it. Hermione felt slightly bad for lying to her, but the library was far too precious for her to abandon. She also knew that Ginny wouldn’t get it; she didn’t share the same passion for reading as Hermione did.

She had thought about teaching Ginny how to read multiple times. Surely, once Ginny knew how pleasurable it was to read, she would appreciate it more. However, she couldn’t help but think that Ginny might not necessarily like it, and then she would’ve just exposed her biggest secret for nothing.

Hermione plopped down onto her favorite sofa, letting out a sigh of relief. Sometimes, by the time she got to the library, she didn’t even _want_ to read; just sitting comfortably on the sofa, surrounded by books, was enough to make her happy. The softness of the sofa calmed her nerves, and she had almost fallen asleep multiple times. Those times that she did fall asleep, she scolded herself when she woke up; what would’ve happened if Rookwood walked in while she was sleeping? He wouldn’t even torture her; perhaps, he would go straight to killing her for infecting his library with her “woman germs,” as he liked to call it.

Today, she wasn’t too tired and she wanted to make sure she read while she still could. Her back barely bothered her at all against the soft surface of the sofa. Grabbing a random book off the shelf, she opened it and looked inside. Its pages were glossy, and the text was written in an elaborate script.

_The Triwizard Tournament_

Hermione blinked. She had never heard of such a thing before.

_A competition that takes place annually. Three contestants are chosen at random to complete three stages. The winner will be determined by the number of points each individual has at the end of the competition._

Hermione scowled; obviously, this was just another competition for men to feel superior about themselves. Their egos were already huge enough; they didn’t need to inflate them even more. She wondered why she had never heard Rookwood talking about such an event before; he certainly was one who would use it as an experience to brag about his power and strength.

However, the book had said that the contestants were chosen at random. And the fact that Rookwood hadn’t mentioned it to his son at all meant that he must have not got chosen. Hermione blinked; if someone as powerful as Rookwood didn’t get chosen, it must mean that it was really random indeed, not some event run by purebloods.

If that was the case, she had a decent chance of being selected if she chose to participate. Hermione frowned down at the paper; though it hadn’t been said, it was quite obvious that this was a competition only for men. She would have to find some way to change herself into a man temporarily. An idea sparked in her mind; if she could win this thing, then she could prove to everyone that women were just as able at magic as everyone else was.

It was still a long shot, but Hermione felt herself nearly bursting with excitement. At last she had found something she could do which would help the women. She had always tried to stand up to Rookwood as much as she could to set a good example for the other females, but she had found that it did little good. They were all still stuck here, and their living conditions hadn’t improved, so she supposed she wasn’t helping anyone much.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t recognize the sound of footsteps until she heard the library door slowly creak open. Panicking, she shot up, looking for a way to escape. The intruder was coming in through the front door, so there was no way she could leave through there.

Unfortunately for her, that had been the only way she had left from ever since she had discovered the library. After the first few days, she thought that no one would come to the library while she was there, so she didn’t need to think of an emergency exit. She had let her guard down, and now she was going to get caught.

She quickly picked up her book—unwilling to leave any evidence behind—and sprinted to hide behind one of the tall bookshelves. While she usually appreciated the fact that there was so many books that all the shelves were completely filled, now she really wished there was an empty spot. There was absolutely nowhere she could put the book down, and just randomly placing it on the floor would cause suspicion to arise.

However, she supposed that once Rookwood saw the empty hole in the first shelf, he would be even more suspicious if the book just disappeared all together. Quickly, she dropped the book on the floor and frantically started to look around for a place to hide as the door opened.

There were two voices, and Hermione recognized one as Rookwood’s. The other was that of a woman’s, and Hermione almost fainted when she recognized the voice.

“Come on.” Rookwood’s voice was rough, but it was strangely devoid of all the anger it usually held. It sounded so… _bare_ without the underlying menace. “I said hurry up and close the damn door before someone comes here.”

“Yes, Master,” Bella breathed out, shutting the door behind her. The second it clicked shut, there was a loud bang and then the sound of kissing filled the air. Hermione grimaced as Bella started moaning like crazy.

“I love it when you call me Master,” Rookwood said, his voice full of lust as the snogging resumed. Hermione’s mind was whirling. As it stood, Rookwood had complete power over Bella, which meant that he could easily order her to do whatever he wanted her to, and she would have to obey. However, Bella didn’t _sound_ like she disliked it.

That must’ve meant that the two of them were snogging because they both _wanted_ to. Hermione made a face. She always knew Bella was insane, but to be insane enough to willingly snog someone who tortured her every day brought it to a whole new level.

A sudden thought struck Hermione’s mind; had she actually seen Bella be punished? The answer would be no. She came back from cleaning sometimes with red marks all over her skin, but those could be magical illusions. She remembered often thinking years ago that she never got to see Bella scream out in pain while Bella was often present to watch her torture sessions.

Did that mean that Bella had never got tortured before, even though everyone else believed that she had? Was that why she was always so smug—because she was in fact too good for torture?

Hermione didn’t know what that was supposed to mean. By law, a man could choose any wife he wanted. The wife would not have to become a slave, but still had to listen to every command her husband gave. Rookwood, however, already had a wife. And as far as Hermione knew, it was against the law to have two. The Ministry already thought it risky enough to grant one woman the privilege of not being a servant. Hermione didn’t think they were generous enough to allow two.

She, however, couldn’t care less about what they did. She just wanted to get out of there and pretend that she had never seen them and that she had never discovered the library. She slowly tiptoed backwards, hoping not to make enough noise to make them suspicious and come looking for her.

Ironically, she walked around in a circle and tripped over the very same book she had put down just moments ago. Hermione held her breath after she fell with a thud to the floor, although she knew it wouldn’t do her any good; judging from the lack of moaning from the pair, they had heard her.

“What’s that?” For once, Bella sounded slightly frightened. Hermione allowed herself to feel slightly triumphant that even Bella wasn’t above the law, but her momentary happiness was quickly burst as Rookwood spoke up.

“Don’t worry; I’ll handle this.” There was a rustle of fabric, which Hermione assumed was him taking out his wand. “Don’t move,” he called out, his voice giving a hint of the malicious tone that she was so used to hearing. Hermione quickly ducked behind the next bookcase as the sound of his voice drew closer. “Stay where you are.”

Hermione knew there was no way that she could defeat him. He had a wand, and she did not have a particularly strong body. There were no other exits that she could spot. A plan started formulating in her head, but she knew that was little chance of it succeeding. However, if she continued to stand where she was, he would eventually find her and torture her. If she was going to go down, she would go down fighting.

Quickly and as quietly as she could, she ran as far away from him as possible. She then began taking books out of their shelves and placing them gently on the floor. As his footsteps drew near, Hermione sped up her actions. Once the books were cleared out, she had a clear way up to the top. She quickly climbed up the shelf, grabbing one of the biggest books she could find as she made her way to the top.

Rookwood was rounding the aisle next to the shelf she was on, and she held her breath and waited. Too late, she noticed that Bella had a clear view of her, and from the look on the girl’s face, she had definitely seen Hermione. There was nothing Hermione could do but wait and hope that Rookwood could come close enough to her before Bella started screaming her location.

Surprisingly, Bella made no noise and stayed near the door. Hermione could barely believe her luck as the girl began determinedly looking everywhere but at her. Hermione raised an eyebrow, but before she could ponder any longer, Rookwood walked right below where she was positioned. Mentally counting to three, she thrust the book off the top of the shelf, praying that it would hit him.

It almost did miss him, but it managed to clip the back of his head before falling heavily to the ground. Rookwood fell to the floor with a dull thud, his wand clattering out of his hand and landing on the floor next to him. Hermione let out a sigh of relief, before she registered the movement out of the corner of her eye; Bella was moving at full speed towards the wand.

Hermione climbed down as quickly as she could, jumped down the last few ledges and dove for the wand. Bella let out a nasty shriek and reached to grab it too, and the two of them engaged in a tug-of-war contest.

“Give it to me!” Bella shrieked, baring her teeth at Hermione. “I deserve this! I have been waiting for so long! I won’t give it up to the likes for you!” She scratched Hermione’s hand so hard that it drew blood, and Hermione grimaced, determined not to let go.

“Stop it. It’s going to break.” However, neither she nor Bella relinquished their hold over it. Trying to distract Bella, she quickly asked, “Why do you want to leave here so badly, anyway? You looked happy snogging him.”

“Do you think I _enjoyed_ it?” Bella growled. “I need to get the fuck out of here and that was my only option. I am not going to let you take away my chance. _Let go!_ ” She gave a particularly hard pull and Hermione’s grip slackened slightly.

Bella took the chance to wretch the wand out of Hermione’s grip completely. However, Hermione pounced on her. She had barely wrapped her hand around Bella’s wrist before the girl Disapparated away, taking Hermione with her.

Hermione had never Apparated or Disapparated before, so the feeling took her completely by surprise. She felt like she was being squeezed through an extremely narrow tube, and her grip on Bella’s arm almost slipped. To make it worse, Bella was trying to pry her fingers off. However, Hermione knew that should she let go, she would slip into somewhere she didn’t know how to get out of. Her other hand was too short to reach Bella’s wrist, so she could only hold on tightly with one hand and pray that she wouldn’t let go.

They arrived in an alley, and Hermione fell on top of Bella. The girl let out a grunt of pain and tried to push Hermione off of her, but Hermione used the opportunity to grab the wand out of Bella’s hand and pointed it at her. Bella looked at her, and then to the wand, and then back at her again.

And then she _laughed_.

“Go ahead,” she said, a cruel smile on her lips. “Curse me if you dare, mudblood.” The girl actually guided the wand’s tip to her forehead, pressing down on her own skin. Bella’s face then transformed into a nasty snarl. “Curse me and you’ll regret it.”

Hermione looked down at her. She never knew Bella wanted to get out of the manor so badly that she would sacrifice everything she could to make that a reality. She knew that even though Bella wasn’t tortured, she still suffered.

However, every time Hermione looked at her, she could only see the girl that would make fun of and hurt all of her friends. And no matter what she had gone through, that girl was not one Hermione had any sympathy for.

“ _Stupefy_ ,” Hermione whispered, remembering that spell from one of the first books that she had read. Surprisingly enough, the spell worked; she hadn’t expected it to on her first try. Bella’s hand fell limp at her side, and her head tilted slightly. Her eyes were open, but unseeing.

Quickly, Hermione dragged her to a more secure location. Bella had got her wish; she was out of the manor. However, after that, Hermione did not deem it to be her responsibilities to help the girl. She had to manage by herself, just like Hermione would have to from now on. There was no way she could return to the manor; by the time she got back, Rookwood would’ve already noticed her missing and put the two together. It didn’t take a genius to deduce that it was her who attacked him in the library. And by the law, any woman who assaulted a man was charged with a death penalty, no matter how severe the injury was.

Standing up shakily on her feet, she quickly exited the alley and looked around. It was a bustling street full of people, though most were men. A couple of women trailed behind their husbands uncertainly, and there were a couple of lucky wives that happily walked besides their husbands. However, there was no woman walking alone, so Hermione quickly transfigured her rags into long robes and trimmed her hair with a bit of magic to make herself look manlier.

Hermione almost felt giddy; she had never used magic before, and the feeling was quite pleasurable. It was fun to swish around a wand and then watch something happen. However, there was plenty of time to do it afterwards, so Hermione quickly moved down the street, trying to avoid any eye contact.

She was starting to wonder where she was going when she suddenly stopped in front of a busy looking shop. Hermione looked up at the sign and saw the words “Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes” written on it. Hermione’s heart almost stopped; Ginny was a Weasley. This must be the shop run by her family.

She felt a little guilty about leaving Ginny behind, but she reasoned with herself that if she managed to pull through with her plan, she would manage to get Ginny and all the other women at Rookwood’s manor out of there. And if she died, then they wouldn’t be affected at all. There was nothing to lose, and everything to gain.

She pushed her way into the shop. It was crowded, and Hermione couldn’t help but notice that there were more children than adults. She quickly found out why; it was a joke shop. There were things flying all over the place and sprouting glitter.

That stuff, however, did not hold Hermione’s interest. Instead, she started making her way towards the back of the store, trying to find the owner’s office. She had to push through a lot of children playing with a deck of cards, and they glared at her when she stepped through them. Hermione, however, paid them no attention as she made her way towards the back.

She could see the door when suddenly a huge spider jumped out of nowhere, bared its fangs and started to run towards her. However, after working as a slave for so long, insects—no matter how big—did not seem to bother her. With a look of distaste, she simply wacked it on the head and kept walking. The spider seemed too stunned to do anything but stare at her retreating back.

“Wow, that was bloody brilliant!” Hermione almost jumped. There, in front of her, was a boy whose hair was as red as Ginny’s. She could see the resemblance between the two of them, and knew that this had to be one of her brothers. Her heart clenched slightly; she had always dreamed of meeting the Weasley family. However, she didn’t feel quite as content now that Ginny wasn’t here.

 _You’re doing this to save Ginny_ , she reminded herself. _Stop feeling sad and actually do something, Hermione Granger._

“Hello.” She smiled, trying to act as manly as she could. She stuck out her hand formally, and the boy shook it, looking at her with a puzzled look on his face. Did she do something wrong? “May I speak to you in private?”

The boy looked momentarily stunned, before nodding. “Yes, sure.” He gestured towards the door and Hermione followed him inside. It was a lot quieter inside than out there in the store, where everything seemed to be exploding rather loudly.

“Ronnikins, didn’t we tell you that only employers were allowed in here?” Hermione almost jumped again for the second time in the span of just a couple of minutes. There were two other brothers sitting in front of her, though they were both identical. _This must be Fred and George_ , Hermione thought to herself. Based on their nickname for the other boy, Hermione deduced that he was Ron, the brother closest in age to Ginny.

“He wanted to speak to me.” Ron gestured towards Hermione. He looked at her kindly, and Hermione knew why Ginny loved her family so much. They were unlike any other men that she had ever met before, and she had met quite a few at Rookwood’s pureblood parties.

The three of them looked expectantly at her. She knew that she had just met them, but she couldn’t help but feel as if she had known them her whole life through Ginny’s stories. It didn’t take her long to decide that she could trust them.

“My name is Hermione Granger, and I am a girl,” she said to clarify things, and watched as Ron’s jaw dropped. Fred and George merely raised an eyebrow each at almost the exact same time, and Hermione could detect a look of amusement on their faces. So far, though, there didn’t seem to be any resentment directed towards her. She took a deep breath before continuing, “There’s something I need you to do for me.”

-

Hermione stood in front of King’s Cross station, feeling rather confused.

After she had explained her dilemma to the Weasleys, they immediately brought her to their family home and introduced her to Ginny’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Both of them were extraordinarily nice, and they both supported her plan to enter the Triwizard Tournament. Ron then offered his hair, telling Hermione that he would be going out of the country with his friend in a couple of days anyway, so he wouldn’t be there to enter.

She had taken Polyjuice Potion, something they told her would let her take the appearance of Ron as long as she took it once a day. They were nice enough to give her a whole case of vials of the potion, and even went so far as to buy a new wand for her. She knew that they weren’t particularly wealthy, so she felt extremely bad, but they reassured her that they wanted to see Ginny so they wanted her to succeed.

Mrs. Weasley had handed her a ticket to enroll herself in the competition. However, now that she finally had a good look at her ticket, she did not know what to do with it. Platform 9 and ¾. She looked at it bewilderedly. It had to be a typo; there was clearly no platform that was 9 and ¾. There was a platform 9 and a platform 10, but nothing in between.

She spent a good thirty minutes walking around, but she could not find platforms 93, 934, or any number with the arrangement of those three numbers. She briefly wandered over to platforms 3 and 4, but there were no people there who wore wizarding robes, so she deduced that platforms 3 and 4 had to be just ordinary platforms.

She was just walking over to platform 9 again to investigate, when she suddenly spotted another individual wearing wizard robes. Feeling rather excited, she charged over and nearly knocked him over. He scowled at her, but she paid it no mind and merely beamed at him.

“Hello, I was wondering where platform 9 and ¾’s was. I can’t seem to find it, though that’s what it says on my ticket.” To prove her point, she shoved her ticket in his face, ignoring the way he seemed to flinch away. “Do you know where that is?”

“No,” he said curtly, making a move to walk away. However, he was the only one she had seen wearing wizarding robes; she couldn’t let him walk away. If he left, then she would never be able to find the registration place by herself.

She spotted the ticket that he was trying to keep from her. Without thinking, she reached over and snatched it out of his hand, not noticing the way his face darkened. “Hey look, yours says platform 9 and 3/4s as well!” she said excitedly.

She had barely had the chance to talk to Ron, but she had immediately got the impression that he liked to blurt out whatever was on his mind. It felt very foreign to her, but she decided she needed to keep the act in place lest people started to get suspicious.

However, she had never been cut out for acting, so she figured—based on the disgusted look on the boy’s face—she was overdoing it.

He snatched his ticket back, making a show of wiping it off on a nearby wall. Hermione made a face, though the boy smirked when he saw it, looking amused rather than angered. He jerked his chin towards a brick wall.

Hermione blinked back at him, rather confused. “What about it?” He nodded towards it again, and Hermione looked at it. It looked rather plain, like all the other brick walls in the station. “Yes, it’s a very nice wall,” she said uncertainly, unsure of what he wanted to hear.

His lips merely quirked up; now he was definitely amused by her. He was looking at her as if she was just a little toy to be played with, and she didn’t particularly feel comfortable with the look he was giving her. However, now that she had got a good look at him, she couldn’t deny he was handsome; his dark hair fell over his forehead and his cheekbones were high which enhanced his features even more.

“Walk into it.”

Hermione blinked, and then scowled at him, crossing her hands in front of her chest. “Do you think I’m an idiot?” she said. He raised his eyebrows, and Hermione knew he had noted her sudden mood change. Well, if he wasn’t going to be helpful, she had better things to do than to listen to him spout insane ideas.

“On the contrary, if I did believe you were, I would’ve sent you on that train,” he said smoothly, gesturing towards the many people who were waiting at platform 9. Hermione would never admit it to him, but had he told her to board the train, she would’ve done so without a second thought.

Hermione glanced over at the wall, and then glared at him. For someone who seemed to be in a rush to get away from her only moments ago, he certainly seemed content to stay right where he was now.

“If I run into the wall and look like an idiot,” Hermione warned, unsure of what other possible ending could come out of such an idiotic action, “I’m going to blame you.”

He smirked at her childish threat. “Go ahead.”

“I’ll sue you.”

“Yes, yes.”

Hermione glared at him one last time for good measure. Then, she looked around to check and make sure that no one else was watching her perform an extremely stupid action. However, with people bustling around them, no one even stopped to look at the two boys standing in front of a very _solid_ wall.

Hermione took a deep breath. She had conquered both Rookwood and Bella over the course of the last twenty four hours. Surely, this was a walk in the park compared to everything she had recently faced.

She began running. She changed her mind halfway, but couldn’t seem to stop fast enough. Closing her eyes, she braced her hands in front of her to prevent her face from slamming into the wall, but strangely, she never felt the solid brick against her hands.

She opened her eyes and nearly gasped. The place was even busier than King’s Cross had been. There were several desks open with long lines. The words “Triwizard Tournament” flashed above in bright letters. All around her were men; men signing up to put their name in the lot in hopes of getting picked to participate in such an honorary event.

She was so caught up in her thoughts that she was knocked over by the boy who just entered platform 9 and 3/4s. She fell to the ground with him on top of her, suddenly aware of how close they were. It seemed to stun him for a while, too, until he clambered off of her and stood up, brushing himself off.

She knew there was no way to tell that she was a girl; the Polyjuice Potion had disguised her as Ron so well that there was not a single hint of Hermione Granger’s existence. However, he shot her a smirk as he walked away, one that made Hermione think that he seemed to know everything about her already.

Shakily, Hermione got to her feet and made her way towards one of the lines. She placed her hand in her pocket to check if she still had her identifications and a vial of polyjuice just in case anything happened. Her wand rested safely in there as well; after buying a new one for her, Mrs. Weasley had tossed Rookwood’s in the fire to burn, erasing all evidence.

“Yo, Ron!”

Hermione spun around and was greeted by the sight of a boy with brown hair. He had a huge grin on his face, and did not look terrifying at all. She had been warned that all men were as evil as Rookwood was, but she didn’t think that the Weasley family or this boy in front of her was particularly frightening. The boy who had helped her get on the platform, she wasn’t so sure about.

Hermione glanced down at his hand and was relieved to see that he was clutching his identification. “Hello, Dean,” she read off. “What are you doing here?”

Dean looked at her as if she had lost her mind. “Signing up for the tournament, of course. Why else would you be here?” At that, Hermione gave a weak laugh and nodded. Dean looked at her suspiciously, but said, “And what are _you_ doing here? I thought you were going to America with Harry.”

“I was.” Hermione nodded. “However, I changed my mind and decided to stay here.” She grinned the way she had seen Ron grin. “I wanted to give the tournament a try.”

“Glad to see you’re finally seeing the light.” Dean clapped her on the back, and Hermione immediately stiffened. Dean, however, didn’t notice her reaction and continued, “I suppose Harry is still planning to go?”

Hermione didn’t really know about this Harry person, but she supposed that since Ron was still going to America, Harry would be going with him as well. Hermione nodded and said, “Couldn’t convince him.”

Dean merely shrugged, not looking too bothered. “Oh well. You tried.”

The two of them talked some more, but it was mostly Dean talking and Hermione listening. On the occasions that Dean asked her a question, she took longer to respond and racked her brain to make sure she was answering with the right information. Dean seemed to get slightly suspicious during her long pauses, but he brushed it off.

Hermione learned a lot about Ron’s life. How his father studied muggle objects, which was frowned upon by much of society. How, even though Ron was a pureblood, his family was considered to be at the very bottom of the pureblood society.

Dean also talked a lot about Ron’s brothers, asking how they were doing. He didn’t mention Ginny at all, and Hermione didn’t expect him to; she didn’t even know if he was _aware_ that Ron had a sister. However, it still hurt how girls were offered no recognition in the world. She had always known this fact, but now that she was out of the Rookwood manor, it slapped her in the face.

She got to the front of the line and handed over her identification to the man behind the desk. He flipped through a couple of pages, looking rather bored, when suddenly his eyes opened wide. Hermione fidgeted; was there something in there that was wrong? A sudden thought flashed through her mind. Had the Weasleys betrayed her? She pushed that thought away; it wouldn’t do her any good to doubt the only people who had been nice to her.

“Mister Weasley,” the man said, looking up. Hermione nodded hesitantly. “I have never seen you enter before. And I believe you were going to America? What made you change your mind so suddenly?”

Hermione mentally yelled at Ron; he hadn’t told her him leaving Europe was such a big deal that everyone seemed to know it. Hermione, however, forced herself to be calm and answered, “Yes, but I decided that I wanted to participate in the tournament this year.” She gestured around. “I couldn’t miss this.”

“Yes, but that has never bothered you before.” The man glanced at her, though Hermione couldn’t tell if he was suspicious or not. He merely shrugged. “I suppose people change.” He grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled her name down, before stamping her identification. “Good luck, Mister Weasley.”

“Thank you,” she said, but the man had already focused his attention on Dean. Hermione wondered if he had made small talk with her to be polite, or if it was part of his job. Deciding not to linger around any longer lest she made anyone suspicious—if even the man at the counter knew that Ron was travelling, who knew who else knew—she started to head towards the brick wall to get back to King’s Cross.

However, before she could get there, she passed by a reception desk; and at the very front of the line was the boy who had helped her, looking quite smug indeed as he handed over his identification to the receptionist. The man looked at it—Hermione was surprised to see his cheeks take a pink tinge when their hands touched—and then handed it back to the boy.

“Very well. Thank you for entering, Mister Riddle.”

Hermione blinked, and then was suddenly aware that the Riddle boy had turned around and was staring directly at her, as if he had somehow sensed that she was looking at him. She quickly averted her eyes and stormed away, but not before she saw the smirk that had appeared on his face.

She stomped away, wanting to get out of there quickly. She almost ran into the wrong wall, receiving several strange glances as she straightened herself and stormed to the other wall that would take her back to King’s Cross station. However, all the way, she could see Riddle’s infuriating smirk branded in her mind.

-

“I’m sorry,” Ron apologized as she walked grumpily next to him down the street. “Mum wants me to show you around.” He glanced at her. “She really misses Ginny, you know. You are a replacement of her.”

Hermione nodded. She had not taken the potion—obviously, or else there would be two Ron Weasleys’ walking together—so she was back to her original self. While she did appreciate Mrs. Weasley’s attempt to make her accustomed to the outside world, she couldn’t help but be rather fidgety; what if Rookwood decided to come here? What would he do if he saw her? While she hadn’t necessarily been that memorable, she had worked for him for around five years; surely, he would be able to recognize her.

“Feel lucky that you don’t have to do this every week,” Ron grumbled. “I know it’s dangerous for her to walk by herself on the streets, and Dad often doesn’t have time to shop for food, so it’s always me who does this. Fred and George are the only ones home, and they always find a way to push this onto me.”

Hermione merely shrugged, patting him reassuringly on his arm. “It’s not that bad, I suppose.”

“Yeah.” He glanced at her. “I’m sorry. You’ve been through a lot worse and here I am complaining about going to the market.” He sighed and muttered under his breath, “Still. This bloody sucks.”

Hermione smiled at him as they arrived at the market. Ron was instantly bombarded with questions—why did he decide not to go to America? Why did he decide to enroll in the Triwizard Tournament? Who _was_ that girl over there?—and Hermione quickly shrunk into the shadows. She felt that the less she talked, the better; she couldn’t screw up if she kept her mouth shut.

Hermione slowly trailed after Ron as he made his way around the market. He seemed to know everyone. For someone who seemed to despise coming to the market, it didn’t seem as though he disliked it too much; he greeted everyone with a cheerful smile on his face and engaged in conversation with nearly everyone.

After an hour, Hermione sighed. Ron was still talking to numerous people, and he hadn’t even bought half the things that Mrs. Weasley had assigned him to buy. She had started to drift away. At first, it was only a couple of feet; she started getting hostile looks when she went over to a store by herself, and she hurried back to Ron.

However, after a while, she grew more daring and starting going off further. There were some times where she went so far that it took her a while to find her way back to Ron. She made sure to stay in the shadows to not receive too much unwanted attention.

However, that was when she saw the bookstore, and all common sense flew out the window.

She rushed in to it, uncaring that the clerks were giving her strange looks for coming in without being accompanied by a man. She flew down the aisles, taking in the shelves of books; it seemed to have been so long since she had been in the Rookwood library. If there was one thing—other than her fellow servants—that she missed about the manor, it was its endless rows of books.

She hurried down an aisle, nearly bursting with excitement, when she suddenly froze in her tracks. Right in front of her was Riddle himself, and he looked down at her rather irritably. Hermione wanted to run back down the aisle and go as far away from him as she could, but that would make him suspicious. She didn’t need to make him suspicious; she was a girl now. There was no way he could tell that she and the Ron Weasley he met the day before was the same person.

She didn’t trust herself to speak normally. He already seemed to be more perceptive than everyone else, so she didn’t want to risk having him connect her to the redhead he met yesterday. Feeling rather foolish, she quickly latched herself onto his arm, squealing.

“Oh my,” she breathed, giggling. “Are you reading a book? Aww, let me see it.” She leaned in, trying to get a glimpse of what he was reading about.

He pushed her off of him roughly. She landed on the floor awkwardly, and her butt stung where it hit the ground. He glared down at her with a look of disgust on his face. Hermione supposed she didn’t blame him; if someone had latched themselves onto her like that, she wouldn’t have been too pleased either.

“Dark Arts?” she blurted out before she could stop herself. She mentally smacked herself; how stupid was she? Riddle raised an eyebrow and stared at her suspiciously, and Hermione wished she could just curl up into a ball and disappear.

“Yes,” Riddle said calmly, though it was quite obvious that she wasn’t off the hook yet. “And what do _you_ know about it?” He sneered. “Can you even read?”

“Of course I can.” Hermione scowled at him, momentarily forgetting to use her flirty personality that she had adopted for herself. “Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I am _completely_ stupid.” She suddenly realized what she was saying and bowed her head down. “Forgive me.”

The words left a bitter taste in her mouth. She had never liked saying such words at the Rookwood manor; it made her feel inferior for all the wrong reasons. She did not have anything against apologizing, but she did not feel that she should apologize for defending herself.

Riddle sneered down at her. “You don’t deserve my forgiveness.” He kicked her into the shelf, sending several books tumbling onto the ground. Several moments later, a store employee came over to check on the commotion.

“Is everything alright here?”

“Yes, everything is fine,” Riddle replied smoothly. Hermione thought for a moment that the man was going to help her up, but instead, he just nodded and left. _Of course_ , Hermione thought bitterly to herself as she pulled herself up. _I’m a_ woman _. There’s no way he’ll help me._

“Stay out of my way,” Riddle warned, narrowing his eyes dangerously. Hermione merely scowled at him. “And mind your own business.”

Hermione noted that he held the book in almost a possessive way. It had caused such a change in emotion. He had already been rather disgusted by her, and after she looked at the book, he had become extremely unpleasant.

Hermione wondered if it was because of the specific content of the book, or if he was irritated that even a _woman_ could deduce what he was reading.

He walked past her, and then kicked her to the ground once more before exiting the aisle. Hermione could only glare at his retreating back, wishing with all her might that she could just pull out her wand and curse him. It would wipe the smug look off his face if he discovered that a woman could curse him.

However, she didn’t feel like he was worth the risk. Instead, she merely placed the books neatly back on the shelves, smacking herself for even finding him intriguing when she met him at King’s Cross. He was nothing but an arrogant man who had a nasty temper. There was nothing interesting about him at all.

-

“Gentleman of the wizarding world, we are now gathered here to reveal the people who have been selected to have the honor of participating in this year’s Triwizard Tournament. However, there has been a slight change in the rules this year.” The news reporter paused for a dramatic effect. “There will be six people participating this year instead of the usual three. They will compete in teams of two, and will share the glory of being victors.”

“That’s great,” Ron said, eating his dinner next to her. His mouth was wide open as he chewed, but Hermione found it rather endearing. She merely smiled at him and refocused her attention on the radio. “You have a higher chance of getting in.”

“Oh Ron, do chew with your mouth closed.” Mrs. Weasley sat down next to Hermione, and by looking at the older woman’s face, it was obvious that she was just as anxious as Hermione was. Mrs. Weasley caught her looking and smiled gently at her. “It’ll be alright,” she reassured.

“Without further ado, I will announce the six fortunate people who have been selected,” the news reporter said. Hermione crossed her fingers nervously. If she wasn’t selected, then she had no idea what else she could do. She would have to live her life in the shadows. There was no way she could return to the Rookwood manor; he would probably kill her on sight.

“We have Phineas Black,” the news reporter started. Hermione knew that all around the nation, wizards were waiting anxiously to hear their name called. But Hermione was sure that no one wanted this as much as she did. “And Pollux Black. What do we have here? Twins! The Black family must be rejoicing.”

Hermione didn’t care about the others. She just wanted to hear one particular name called.

“Abraxas Malfoy,” the news reporter continued. Hermione recognized that last name as one of the wealthy purebloods who always came to Rookwood’s parties. “Peter Pettigrew. Tom Riddle.” Hermione narrowed her eyes at the mention of him. Tom Riddle. So that was his name.

“Please,” Hermione whispered under her breath.  Ron looked over at her, but she didn’t pay him any attention. “ _Please_.”

“And finally, the last lucky man,” the reporter said in a strangely cheerful voice. “We have a first timer! What luck! You know as they always say, some people just have better luck than others.” Hermione didn’t quite particularly pride herself with luck—she _had_ been born as a woman after all—but she wished with all her heart that the reporter was talking about her. “And the last contestant, but _certainly_ not the least, is Ronald Weasley.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Hermione walked into the room, pulling her little suitcase behind her, and was astonished at how small it was. She supposed that it was a mansion compared to what she lived in at the Rookwood manor—though you really couldn’t get much smaller than that—but she would have thought that a competition for wealthy pureblood men would have bigger rooms.

She scolded herself for thinking that way. She got a nice room to live in. Who was she to complain? At least they weren’t going to force her to sleep outside. It was then that she noticed something else in the room. Or rather, something that was missing.

There was only one bed, sitting innocently in the middle of the room. It wasn’t a big bed either. While it could fit two people, Hermione noticed how it would be a tight squeeze for the two individuals attempting to do so. And if one slept like she did, there would be a lot of kicking and punching between the two.

She had received some rules in the mail, and it was made quite clear that the room was to be shared between the partners. She hadn’t been too worried about it, except that the mail had neglected to mention that each contestant would not be given the basic necessities and would have to _share_. She usually wasn’t one against sharing, but she wanted her own bed. Hermione hadn’t received the name of her partner yet, but she was almost certain that none of the other five competitors were females disguised as males. She was the only one who had that dilemma, and refusing to share a bed might expose her true identity.

She had done a fair amount of thinking about this particular topic. She had finally made herself accept the fact that if she wanted to win this tournament, she needed the help of her partner. She could not do it on her own, as much as she would like to think that she could. It would not do for her to get on her partner’s bad side over trivial matters such as sleeping locations.

However, she had not accounted for the fact that there would only be one bed. It had taken long enough to convince herself that it was okay to sleep in the same room as a man. The last time she had ‘slept’ in the same room with someone who was not one of her fellow slaves was when Rookwood called her to his room and then beat her until she was unconscious. It was only natural that she did not like to share rooms—much less a bed—with anyone, but she couldn’t say so.

Hermione had assumed, since this was mainly a pureblood competition, that they would have at least supplied two beds for the contestants. After all, they certainly weren’t lacking money; there wasn’t any reason for them not to. But either they had forgotten or couldn’t be bothered, because Hermione was sure, no matter how many times she blinked and tried to convince herself otherwise, there was only one bed in front of her.

Hermione marched over to the corner of the room. There was a little box in the corner—sort of like a wizarding version of a telephone—on which she pressed the red button hurriedly, making sure to take a deep breath lest she answered in a way that was not Ron-like. 

 “Hello?”

“Hello, sir, this is Ronald Weasley in room five,” she said into the speaker. There was no response, so she took that as a sign to continue. “I have just arrived in my room only to notice that there is only one bed in here. I’m afraid that you have given me the wrong room. Please direct me to the correct one as soon as possible, as I want to start unpacking.” She hoped that didn’t sound too rude.

There was a small pause, and then the person said, “Mister Weasley, with all due respect, you cannot be picky in the art of survival. Trivial things do not matter, and you surely have much bigger things to worry about than a bed. We have decided that one bed with will suffice for each pair of partners.”

 _We_ , the person had said. Hermione felt anger bubbling up inside of her. Like they had permission to decide what she was to do, and she would just have to go along with it. She had faced this type of treatment at the Rookwood manor, but she had expected it to change once she got into the competition. However, apparently purebloods felt superior enough even to other purebloods that they could do this to them as well.

After meeting Ron, she had thought that they were an outcast family of purebloods. They treated women with respect, and they seemed nice to slaves. However, she was getting the feeling that they were _really_ on the bottom of the pureblood hierarchy. They didn’t seem to be respected as much as the others.

 “But _sir_!”

 “There have always been three contestants, one for each room,” the person continued as though he hadn’t heard Hermione. “However, the rules were changed this year to allow six people to participate. We are aware of that, and we are terribly sorry for any inconvenience.” Somehow, Hermione didn’t think the person was very apologetic at all. “However, we did not feel it was necessary to remodel, seeing how these rooms have been the exact same way since the very first Triwizard Tournament. It would be disgraceful to change it just because one person cannot tolerate sharing a bed.”

“Yes, sir, I know that—“

“Mister Weasley, if you cannot deal with such trivial matters, then we request that you leave the competition.” The person’s tone was final, and Hermione could detect a little bit of anger underlying his voice.

Sighing, Hermione bid the person goodbye and pressed the red button again. Now the people who ran the competition would think her to be nothing more than a spoiled little brat who threw tantrums when things didn’t go her way. And that was not a good first impression to make.

Hermione told herself that if purebloods who had had their own manors to themselves ever since they were little could handle sharing a bed, then so could she. She would just have to suck it up and do it. Days ago, she would’ve been so happy if someone told her she could get out of the Rookwood manor and sleep in a nice, soft bed. She wouldn’t have cared that she had to share it.

_Focus on your task, Hermione._

She turned around and was about to head towards her luggage to unpack when she noticed the man leaning against the door frame. Based on the smirk on his face, he had heard her entire conversation and it had amused him greatly.

However, Hermione had not heard him enter the room, and the sight of him took her by surprise. Thankfully, she did not shriek like a little girl. She did, however, let out a yell of surprise and stumbled backwards into a chair, falling rather ungracefully on her butt. Feeling rather embarrassed, she decided she ought to act more manly and let out a string of colorful vocabulary as she had seen Ron do multiple times.

 “Very graceful,” he commented dryly. Hermione wanted to run and hide in another room. _Of course with my luck, I would get him as a partner_ , she thought to herself. While he was probably not the worst person, she supposed, she had already let too much slip in front of him. Once he put together the pieces, it would be fairly easy for him to discover her secret.

Her partner was Tom Riddle, the guy at King’s Cross and at the library, the guy who loved to read books about Dark Arts, and the guy—like everyone else in the world—who despised women. And that would be quite problematic for her if Tom had half the brain that she thought he had.

“Are you my partner?” she asked dumbly, only to realize how stupid her question sounded. Obviously he was her partner; why else would he be in her room? She didn’t think he had come to make polite conversation.

 “Unfortunately.”

Tom stepped into the room, barely casting it a look, before sitting down on the bed. “Feeling uncomfortable about sharing a bed, are we?” Hermione glared at him, and his grin only grew wider. “However, I suppose that resolves the bed issue.” He moved over so he was sitting in the middle of the bed, taking up the whole thing. He raised an eyebrow at her. “You’ll have to sleep somewhere else.”

Hermione scowled at him, but rather than arguing with him—something she was sure wouldn’t end too well—she decided to go down another route. “That’s fine with me,” she said, and Tom raised an eyebrow at her obedience. “You can be a wimp and sleep on the bed. I know you can’t bear to sleep anywhere else. _I’ll_ be a man and sleep on the floor.” She shot him a triumphant look, waiting to see what his reaction would be.

The effect was instant; his face turned sour, and he stood up quickly, like the bed had burned him. “There’s no need to use such tactics,” he spat. “If your Highness really cannot sleep without a bed, then so be it.” He sat down on the other end of the floor as well.

Hermione glared at him when her plan suddenly didn’t go the way she expected it to. She had thought that he would just suck it up and keep the bed. She supposed that it was her fault for taunting him in the first place. “No you don’t. This is _my_ floor; you can’t sleep on it. You get on the bed.”

 “Is it yours?” Tom commented dryly, making a show of getting comfortable. Not one to be outdone, she tried to copy exactly what he was doing. “I don’t suppose it says that anywhere? Property of Ronald Weasley? That appears to be absent.”

Hermione took out her wand and traced her name onto the hardwood floor. She barely caught herself before she wrote Hermione Granger, managing with difficulty to turn the ‘H’ into a very messy ‘R.’ After she had finished her masterpiece, she turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “There you go. Happy?”

Clearly, he wasn’t. Tom scowled at her and repeated the same thing that she had done, and then turned to smirk at her. “That’s interesting,” he said. “It appears that my name is on the floor too. What a pity; it’s mine now.”

Not really following his logic, though she definitely heard the challenging tone in his voice, she decided that she was not going to lose to him. Pointing her wand up, she traced his name onto the bed covers. It was very short, only nine letters compared to the usual fifteen letters she had to write. She sort of liked his name, though she would never admit it to him. “It looks like the bed is yours as well,” she said sweetly. “I suppose you’ll have to get the bed and leave the floor to me.”

He reached over and wrote her name on top of his. It was so weird seeing ‘Ronald Weasley,’ though she supposed she would have to get used to it. If anyone ever called her Hermione Granger here, she would be in big trouble. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” he said innocently after he had finished. “You were saying?”

Hermione crossed her arms in front of her chest and gave him her best glower. She hadn’t had time to look in the mirror, so she didn’t know how ridiculous the look was on her. Her mother used to tell her that it was a very scary look, but it only worked on her face. She wasn’t sure she could say the same about Ron’s. Based on Tom’s expression, it must have come out quite terrible indeed; she would have to work on that in front of a mirror later.

 “This is my floor,” she said hotly, running out of arguments and deciding to use good old stubbornness. She felt slightly foolish, but at this point, she didn’t really care anymore; why wouldn’t he just listen to her and take the bed? It was a perfectly good bed, and she would eagerly take it if her stupid pride wasn’t getting in the way. Perhaps he had the same problem as well.

“What a shame,” he sighed, looking quite bored of their argument already. “You do not own me. You cannot tell me what to do.”

Hermione blinked. “Well, that escalated quickly,” she muttered. “All I was doing was offering you the bed. If you didn’t want it, you could’ve just said so,” Hermione rolled her eyes, ignoring the fact that he had indeed told her multiple times. “I’m not sleeping on the bed, though, so your loss if you want to sleep on the floor.”

“I will,” Tom said, grabbing his luggage and taking one of the pillows from the bed. “I rather like the floor.”

“That’s very high praise.”

 “It is.” He settled himself on the floor on one side of the bed, and Hermione did the same. “The floor should feel honored.”

 “What, that you’re lying on top of it?” Hermione snorted.

There was a pause, and then he drawled, “There are many people who wish for me to be lying on top of them.” She could almost hear the smirk in his voice, and scowled. His statement had solidified her suspicion that he had an enormous ego. However, she could see his point. He certainly wasn’t _ugly_ ; in fact, he was quite the handsome boy that she would’ve probably been attracted to had he not had that streak of stubbornness in his personality.

Oh, who was she kidding? She was still attracted to him no matter what. But unlike many other people in the world, she hardly cared who she was attracted to. She determined things by her chemistry with the other person, and right now, their chemistry was quite low.

“Good night, Tom,” she said quietly, although he either didn’t hear her or chose to ignore her, because there was no response. Hermione shifted around, trying to get comfortable. She was really starting to regret her choice to sleep on the floor, though she refused to swallow her pride and climb onto the bed. That would symbolize that Tom had won, and the one thing Hermione Granger hated to do was lose.

She couldn’t sleep; whether it was nerves or something else, she didn’t know. She began thinking, about her parents, about her fellow slaves, about the manor. The world was a cruel one, she decided; not only did people feel superior enough to make others their slaves, they were also sexist enough to convince themselves that they were above women. What exactly about men was so good that they deemed themselves worthy of enslaving women? And how was fate so cruel that some people were not only born muggleborns, but women as well?

She fell asleep soon after, thinking that even if it was the last thing she would do, she had to win the competition. Not just for herself, but for women everywhere.

She just hoped that Tom could keep up with her.

-

Hermione woke up the next morning, and the first thing she did was to check to see if Tom had given in during the night and crawled onto the bed. She was disappointed to see the bed still empty and perfectly made. However, she then noticed that he was not in the room at all; seemingly he had got up earlier and slipped out of the room without waking her up.

She quickly changed—noting once again that there were no bathrooms or any closets for her to change in. While she had Ron’s appearance, she did not think he’d appreciate her stripping naked in front of Tom. She hurried back to her luggage and put her pajamas back in, before reaching into a small compartment for a vial of Polyjuice.

Hermione frowned when her hand hit the container that was very much _open._

Had she left it open? Of course she hadn’t; she had taken extra care back at the Weasley’s home to seal it up completely. That was her most valuable possession, so she couldn’t have left it open like that. She supposed there were the security guards, but they would have needed to pass by both her and Tom. There was really only one person who could’ve looked through her luggage quite easily.

Hermione gritted her teeth and then left the room quickly. She glanced at the clock, which said she had approximately five minutes to report to breakfast, but her mind wasn’t focused on that. The open compartment presented more problems for her.

What if he saw? What if he put it all together? What if he ratted her out? She would be tossed out of the competition before even being able to try, and most likely tortured. The Weasleys would get involved, and though she could lie and say that it was all her and that she stole Ron’s hair, they would get made into the joke of the town; what type of pureblood male could get overwhelmed so easily by a female slave?

So lost in thought, she almost crashed into two boys blocking her path down the stairs. She skidded to a stop and glared pointedly at them; she was not in the mood to deal with them. However, they didn’t budge and merely stood there, wearing identical smirks.

She was sure that these were the two twins, Phineas and Pollux Black. Of course they were selected to be partners, though she wasn’t sure that the Black family was terribly happy about the two of them being put together; if they were on separate teams, they would have a two thirds chance of winning the tournament.

“Well, well, well,” one of them said, and Hermione assumed him to be Phineas. Although they looked a lot alike, Hermione could see the differences. He was taller, more bulky, and had a mature face. Pollux had a lean figure and a thin face. Phineas looked more to be the trickster while Pollux looked more serious and calculating, though Hermione wasn’t sure which one was worse. “Ronald Weasley.” He spoke the name as if it were a curse.

“Yes,” Hermione eyed them with distaste. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Phineas and Pollux Black, but if you excuse me, I have somewhere I need to be.” She tried to edge around them, but Phineas stuck out a hand, effectively cutting off her path down the stairs.

“Now, now, no need to be impolite,” Phineas simpered. “I was merely greeting you. Hasn’t your mother taught you any manners?”

Hermione wanted to point out that if he truly cared about what her mother was teaching her, he and other purebloods would stop pulling young girls away from their families to become slaves, but she managed to hold herself back. Instead, she merely shrugged and said, “You are right. I apologize for my rudeness. However, I am supposed to be at breakfast right now. As of now, I am late,” she gestured towards them. “And so are you.” She pushed past him.

“You stay out of my way, Weasley,” Phineas snarled. “You have no business here. A blood traitor like you is no better than a woman.” Hermione felt anger surge through her as she clenched her fists, but she kept walking. Phineas’ voice followed her all the way into the next room. “You get in my way, Weasley, you lay even _one_ hand on me, and I will slaughter you where you stand.”

Hermione was happy to get away from the two brothers and into a space that had more people. However, once she got to the dining room and noticed her partner sitting at the table, her previous predicament rushed back to her.

In the other group, she could recognize Abraxas Malfoy. She had been unfortunate enough to meet him at some of Rookwood’s parties, but it was under very different circumstances than it was now. It was impossible not to see that blonde hair of his, and initially, she had ducked down in fear that he would recognize her. Then, she scolded herself for being so paranoid. The Polyjuice Potion was rather advanced, after all; there was no way he could see Hermione Granger under her disguise.

The other boy, who resembled a rat, she assumed to be Peter Pettigrew. He nibbled his food nervously, glancing around every five seconds as if a mass murderer would appear and assassinate him. He was clearly not a child, but by the way he acted, he might as well have been.

There were three empty seats, and only one of them next to Tom. The other two were for the Black twins, she supposed. There was a stern looking man at one end of the table. His hair was white, and he wore glasses. His beady eyes scanned the room, and Hermione felt very exposed under his gaze.

She sat down next to Tom, who acted as though he hadn’t seen her. Leaning over, she whispered in his ear, “Did you go through my trunk?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shifted away, as though her breath offended him.

Hermione scowled, resisting the urge to grab his arm and force him to look at her, a move that would most likely not end very well. “I’m serious. My trunk was open. Did you look through it while I was asleep?”

“No,” Tom said in such a way that Hermione was positive he was lying. “I will take extra care to make sure I do next time.”

Before Hermione could say anything back, the Black brothers arrived and slid into their seats just a couple of seconds before breakfast formally started. The man in the front cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention, glancing pointedly at Peter, who continued to eat as though he hadn’t heard the man.

“My name is Michael McGonagall,” he introduced himself. Hermione recognized the surname; Minerva McGonagall had been at the Rookwood manor before as well, though Hermione herself had never met the woman. However, Hannah had millions of stories to tell her about this remarkable woman, so Hermione could only hope that this Michael would show some signs of his relative. “I am the person responsible for giving you the tasks for this competition.”

No one, not even Peter anymore, was touching the food. Everyone was listening carefully, hanging on to every word that Michael was saying.

“The first task will begin two hours after breakfast,” he announced, and Hermione frowned. She hadn’t expected it to be so quickly, though she supposed that they didn’t want to give them too much time to make it seem like a vacation, either. “However, I am not allowed to tell you what the task is until five minutes before the start. I advise you to start planning with your partner after you have finished eating. That is all.” He left the room.

Hermione didn’t know how smart it was for him to leave the competitors all in one room. What if they started fighting and everyone died before the competition actually started? That wouldn’t look good for anyone.

However, before therewas a _chance_ for fighting to arise, Tom forcefully dragged her out of the room, ignoring her protests. Hermione, who hadn’t had a chance to eat yet, managed to snag three biscuits before Tom hauled her out, taking extra care to make sure she bumped her head everywhere possible.

He only released her when they got back to their room. He unceremoniously dumped her on the floor before stalking off, leaving her to rub her head while trying to savor what was left of her biscuits. Tom began pacing back and forth, seeming to be in deep thought.

Hermione, thinking that it would be best to not get in his way, decided to prepare herself as well. She pulled out her wand and flicked it experimentally so that a couple of sparks flew out. Satisfied that it hadn’t decided to malfunction overnight, she tucked it into the pocket of her robes, wondering what else she could possibly need.

 “You had better not get in my way, Weasley,” Tom spat out. He seemed to be in a rather foul mood; perhaps, he had expected to be told of the first task of the event. “You make one mistake, and I will find a way to get you disqualified.”

“Haven’t you read the rules?” Hermione said, feeling slightly offended. “You get disqualified if your partner is disqualified. No exceptions. I don’t think you want to get kicked out for something as small as me.”

He seemed to be in a serious debate about it with himself. Was it honestly hard for him to decide? She knew that he wanted to stay in the tournament as much as she did, yet it seemed like he truly hated her.

 “Fine,” Tom said grudgingly. “You may stay.” _‘As if I need your permission to do anything!’_ she almost screamed at him. “However, one wrong move, Weasley, and I’ll make you wish that you were never born.”

“Resorting to threats now, are we?” Tom scowled and gathered his stuff before making to leave the room. However, before he could get out the door, she called after him, “Don’t drag me down either, Riddle.”

Hermione was sure the door was going to fall off by the sheer force that Tom used to slam it.

-

The first stage was a dragon. Two dragons, to be precise, guarding two golden eggs. They looked rather ferocious as well, and Hermione was sure that if she wasn’t in such a state of panic, she would be able to recall which type of dragon it was and how to defeat it.

However, she had drawn a blank.

Phineas was walking around with a rather big smirk on his face. Hermione could bet that he knew exactly what the first task was even before it began. She was sure that while it may be luck that one of the Black brothers were selected to compete in the tournament, there wasn’t any possible way that _both_ of them were selected by luck. She was sure that there must be some sort of political bribing involved.

Now that she thought about it, it _really_ was luck that got her into the competition. There were so many pureblood families who were dying to get into the tournament that they were willing to do anything, including bribing and threatening. The fact that she had even got a chance to be here was amazing; she wasn’t going to let it go to waste.

Abraxas and Peter went out first, and Hermione could hear the cheering outside. Michael McGonagall stood by the entrance of the tent, keeping a watchful eye on them lest they started to fight. However, fighting was the last thing on Hermione’s mind right now. She was already in trouble, trying to figure out how to defeat the dragon; she didn’t need to cause herself more grief by engaging in a duel.

Phineas and Pollux were huddled in one corner, occasionally shooting Hermione and Tom glances, as if afraid that they were going to eavesdrop. Hermione sighed. They had nothing to worry about. She would never eavesdrop. Her pride was too big to allow her to even try it.

As for Tom, he was quietly musing to himself. She wanted to point out that they were partners; hence each of them would have to take out a dragon, so it would be beneficial if he told her what the plan was. However, he didn’t seem particularly obliged to do so, and she hadn’t heard a word from him ever since their conversation back in their room.

There was another roar from the crowd, and Hermione guessed that something particularly exciting must have happened. She had learnt that when the crowd made a loud noise, it didn’t necessarily symbolize good; it symbolized exciting. The crowd wanted to be pleased. Hermione noticed that they didn’t really care about the wellbeing of the contestants themselves, and it gave Hermione a sinking feeling in her gut.

 “Listen,” Tom whirled around to face her, and Hermione suddenly felt happy that he was going to share his plan with her. There was still time, and she was sure that they could tweak it so that it would suit them both.

 “Yes?” Hermione said, a bit too eagerly. “What’s your battle plan?”

Tom looked at her like she had grown two heads. “There is no ‘plan,’” he said slowly. “You will merely stay behind a rock and wait until I get both of the eggs.” He looked at her seriously. “Do try not to get killed, though I suppose that wouldn’t hinder me much.”

Hermione’s smile dropped off her face and she stared at him. He looked quite serious. “Are you kidding me?” she shrieked, ignoring the fact that it was loud and drew the attention of all the other occupants of the room. “I will not sit behind and wait for you to do all the work. There are two eggs for a reason. I am supposed to get one of them, and you are supposed to get the other. Is that too much for your tiny brain to comprehend?”

Tom scowled at her. “You couldn’t get it even if you tried,” he snarled at her.

That was too much for Hermione. She was about to take out her wand, but before she could do that, Tom was blasted backwards and into a pile of wooden boxes. Hermione stared down at her hands, but her wand was still resting innocently in her pocket.

 _Have I just performed wandless magic?_ She thought to herself, rather bewildered.

Tom looked just as stunned as she felt. No doubt that he had expected her not to be able to do any magic, or a very limited amount anyway. There was no way he had anticipated her doing not only nonverbal, but also wandless magic. It was a surprise for her as well.

 _If I could do wandless magic, why couldn’t I have cursed Rookwood back at the manor? Surely, if it’s something triggered by anger, I’ve been furious enough times there that I could’ve used it_.

However, Hermione decided that it was not worth it to deliberate on that topic now. She waved her arms rather frantically. “I know more about dragons than you do!” she glared at him, thoroughly offended. “Dragons are able to fly and breathe fire through their nostrils, did you know that?” When Tom didn’t respond, Hermione continued. “There are many spells that can affect dragons. The stunner is the easiest one, though it does take multiple people casting it to have any effect on the dragon. The Conjunctivitus Curse works as well, though since the dragon cannot see, it might accidentally crush its egg. Draconifers is a transfiguration spell and perhaps the least risky, though it would involve statues of dragons that we don’t have, so that may be hard to do. Of course, Fiendfyre works, but it’s rather unpredictable. A slight mistake would result in scrambled eggs. I’m sure there are many more, but these are the only ones I have read about.” She smiled sweetly at him.

Tom stared at her suspiciously, as if she was hiding a book somewhere and just reading off the description. Hermione smirked triumphantly at him, sure that this was a fight that she had won. However, the gleeful feeling was quickly wiped away when Phineas stepped up to her, Pollux right behind him.

“Thank you for screaming out its weaknesses for us, Weasley,” Phineas drawled, and then the two of them were gone. They must have been called out while she was screaming at Tom, though she certainly hadn’t noticed.

Tom was standing up now, brushing himself off. Hermione looked out the tent, and then back to Tom, suddenly feeling rather guilty. “Oops,” she said.

“It does not matter. Black knew about the event before the tournament started. He just wanted to rile you up.” Perhaps that was true, but she would never forgive herself if there was something she had said that made the difference between who was the winner. Tom looked at her sharply. “Where did you learn to do that?”

 “Rant? I don’t know. My mother always said it was a rather bad quality of mine, how I can seem to go on and on about nothing in particular. My father, on the other hand, said it was good—“

“No,” Tom interrupted. Even though his voice was quiet, it managed to cut through her speech and stop her from rambling on. “Wandless magic. Not many people can do it,” he looked particularly thoughtful.

Hermione recognized it as bragging. There was no doubt from the way he spoke that he could do wandless magic as well. She wanted to lie about it, but figured that there would be no point if she couldn’t even be truthful to her partner about something as simple as this. “No, that was an accident. I’ve never done it before.”

 “Interesting,” was all he said, but he seemed to lose interest in her right after he said that. He turned away and went back to his pacing, and Hermione decided to leave him alone. Her little rant had helped to clear her mind, and she could now think better than she could before. She didn’t have to rely on him for a battle plan; she could come up with one herself. And she couldn’t wait to see his face once he figured that she had managed to get the egg before he did.

“Mister Riddle and Mister Weasley,” McGonagall called. Clapping could be heard from the stadium, so Hermione assumed that unfortunately, the dragons had not eaten the Black brothers. “Your event starts now.”

Hermione walked side by side with her partner, though they kept a respectable distance from each other. She hadn’t noticed it before, but surely there were some dark waves rolling off of him? She had never felt anyone else’s magic, so it was testament to his aura being so strong that she could feel it.

He turned towards her, and she thought that he was actually going to say something meaningful to her for once. However, he was just surveying the surroundings, his lips twitching slightly. “There are plenty of rocks,” he remarked. Indeed there were; the ground was filled with jagged edges and huge boulders. “It shouldn’t be too troublesome to find one big enough to hide behind.”

Hermione scowled at him, but refrained herself from cursing him once again. Perhaps that would’ve gotten more points from the judges and the crowd would’ve certainly liked it.

Instead, she simply faced the dragon in front of her, which was ten times bigger than she could’ve imagined. She drew her wand out of her pocket; she would never get over the feeling of holding a real wand in her hands.

Out of the corner of her mouth, she said, “Careful, Riddle. You might find my hand slipping. Watch your back, or I may end up accidentally cursing you.”

His lips curled up. “You couldn’t hit me if you tried.”

Hermione wanted to say more, but the horn blew, symbolizing the start of the round. She charged forwards, only to get nearly crushed by the dragon’s tail, which unexpectedly flew her way.

_All right. Change of plan._

She knew who she was impersonating, so she knew what she had to do. Many people were expecting her to do it. Hermione Granger would’ve hated it, but she wasn’t Hermione Granger. She was Ronald Weasley, and she had a tournament to win.

She quickly transfigured one of the rocks into a broom and gulped. She knew that Ron loved flying, but she herself hated it. She hated heights. She hated everything that came with it. But she also hated being a slave, hated how women had absolutely no rights. She had come to the tournament to change that fact, and she wasn’t going to back out now just because of a little fear of hers.

Mounting the broom, she took a huge gulp of air before taking off. The dragon’s head followed her around, though it seemed to be in no particular rush to follow her. The dragon snorted out some fire, and Hermione wobbled around clumsily to avoid the flames. She was sure that Ron was way more graceful on the broom than she could ever be, but at least she was trying.

After she flew around its head a couple of times, Hermione felt brave enough to take one hand off the broom and reach for her wand. She very nearly toppled off, but managed to keep her balance by putting more weight on the right side of her body. She knew that there weren’t many spells that could stop a dragon, and a stunner was certainly one of those which were ineffective. It would only work if several people stunned the dragon, and even with Tom’s help, she didn’t think that it would do much good. However, her objective wasn’t to stop the dragon.

It was to distract it.

Taking a deep breath, she increased her flying speed. The dragon, its head not moving fast enough, decided to stand up now. She shot multiple stunners which bounced off harmlessly, though it did serve to confuse it even further.

Now, thoroughly confused, it let out a roar before it took off, very nearly knocking Hermione off her broom as she veered sharply to avoid it. She noted an opening, but noticed that the dragon flew back to check on its egg ever so often. However, her strategy seemed to be working, so she continued what she was doing, hoping that the dragon would go far enough that she could quietly slip in and retrieve the egg.

After five minutes of riding, Hermione was sure that her hands were going to fall off. It was rather painful to have to sit on a broom; she couldn’t see why all the Quidditch players did this for _fun_. She was tired as well from casting so many stunners, and she was about to give up and come up with another plan when the dragon started chasing her.

_Perfect. Now if I can get to the egg before it eats me, then I’ll pass._

She shot down in a dive at full speed, hoping that she would be able to get the egg without face planting into the rock. However, she would rather fall to the ground than miss the egg, so she focused on staying on track.

The dragon breathed out some fire, lighting up the tail of her robes. Hermione quickly put it out with her wand, making sure to keep her eyes focused on the egg. She knew that it would only be a matter of seconds before she hit the ground, but she refused to close her eyes.

The dragon was getting more and more furious and let out a huge roar. It swayed her broom, and she clutched it clumsily, trying to stay on course. She was so close to the egg, and would reach it very soon. However, she wasn’t sure if she could survive another gust of wind that the dragon caused.

Fortunately, the dragon waited until her hand latched onto the egg to blow another gust of wind, which sent both her and the egg spiraling off her broom and flinging her into the air. She had only just managed to make a little cushion for herself before she hit the ground on the other end of the stadium.

She distinctively heard the applause of the audience, but she ignored it. Instead, she stood up and triumphantly held up her egg for her partner to see.

It was then that she noticed that Tom seemed to have got the egg as well, though he had done so much more gracefully. The dragon looked…almost _dead_ by his feet. However, he did not look pleased about his victory. Instead, he looked at her with an expression of shock; he clearly had not expected her to accomplish her task so quickly.

Hermione herself was equally as shocked. She had taken the easy way out by flying. He had actually used magic to win. She couldn’t even think of how much magic he must have used.

The dragon tamers came out and forced the dragons back into their cages. Hermione was aware of the announcer saying their scores, aware that they had gotten the highest score out of all the pairs, but she didn’t pay any attention to it. Instead, she walked up slowly to Tom, letting a grin spread across her face, not caring how ridiculous she looked.

 “Not bad, Riddle,” she said. Tom himself looked quite happy, or the happiest he could look, anyway. “I hadn’t expected you to be so fast.”

“You were slower than me,” was all he said, though his lips quirked up slightly.

“Would it kill you to say something nice once in a while?” Hermione huffed, rolling her eyes. She noticed Phineas heading back towards his room, though Hermione didn’t miss the way he glared at her. Hermione sighed; oh well, you win some and you lose some.

 “Yes, actually, it would.”

Hermione was about to retort when suddenly, one of the dragons charged out of the cage and at them, rearing its head in a fearful manner. Hermione looked to her side and noticed that Tom hadn’t moved, but instead taken out his wand again and pointed it at the dragon.

_There’s no way he thinks he can take a dragon head on._

Without thinking, Hermione pushed him out of the way, the two of them toppling off the rock. She landed painfully on top of Tom, though she was sure that he took most of the pain, having to land on the jagged edges of the terrain. However, she didn’t stop to see if he was okay. She jumped up to check on the dragon, but it was already being subdued and being led back to its cage.

It was then that Hermione noticed that one of the dragon tamers looked quite familiar. He had red hair and was giving her a strange look, and Hermione then realized that it must be Charlie Weasley, one of Ron’s older brothers. He must have thought it strange that his little brother, who was supposed to be in America with Harry, was actually competing in a tournament he had expressed no interest in. She would have to explain it to him later.

She was about to lean down and lend Tom a hand when he pushed past her roughly, an angry look on his face. “What’s the matter?” she asked, trailing after him. Surely, it couldn’t be _too_ bad that she had pushed him out of the way. Even though it had been painful, she had saved his life as well.

Tom suddenly whirled around, his face full of anger. “I told you not to get in my way, Weasley,” he hissed, before continuing back to the rock which they had been standing on before.

Hermione blinked. “I know you being saved by me has bruised your ego,” she said, trying to keep up with his large strides. “But don’t you think you could be at least a little thankful that you didn’t end up as dragon dinner? What did I ever do to you?”

Tom clenched his fists so that his knuckles were almost white. “You broke the damn egg, that’s what you did.”

She had forgotten about the egg, and now she noticed why Tom had been so adamant about not getting out of the way. They had left the eggs up there, and though one of them was completely fine, the other had smashed into millions of shards on the ground. The dragon must have run into it while it was on its rampage.

“But that holds the clues to the next event,” Hermione said.

“Exactly.” Tom took the egg that was still intact, and Hermione refrained from pointing out that it was _her_ egg that he was taking. Still scowling, he didn’t cast her another look as he slipped out of the arena.

Hermione turned to McGonagall, who had been standing there watching their argument. “Sir,” she said, approaching him. “I don’t quite think it’s fair. It wasn’t our fault that the dragon started attacking us.”

“Yes, Mister Weasley, we have ordered for the dragon tamers to be fired immediately.”

Hermione shook her head. “Oh no, please don’t do that. I was just asking if we could have another egg. It is fairly important after all.” She laughed, though McGonagall didn’t seem to find her humorous.

 “We understand, Mister Weasley, and we are sorry for your loss. However, as you said, the egg is quite important. There should have been more effort spent protecting it.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “Are you saying that you can’t get a new one for me?”

“That’s precisely what I’m saying, Mister Weasley. Those eggs are custom made and I’m afraid we could only get six of them this year. You will have to make do with the egg your partner has. It only holds half of the clues, but it is better than nothing.”

 “You don’t get it,” Hermione said in a panicked tone. “My partner hates me. He will never share the egg with me.”

 “Your personal business is none of my concern, Mister Weasley.” She couldn’t believe how cold he was being. Almost as if he was a robot. “That is between you and your partner. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere I need to be.” Before he left, however, he looked her sharply in the eye. “Good luck, Mister Weasley. You will need it.”

In all her years in the manor, whether it was Rookwood or the purebloods that he invited to his parties or Bella or even Tom, she had never been pissed off by anyone as much as Michael McGonagall pissed her off.

-

The next event was in a day. And Hermione hadn’t even had the chance to touch the egg yet.

Tom was keeping it hidden, as she expected. The only time she saw him was during the night, and those were very tense moments. They never spoke, though both of them still refused to sleep on the bed. She tried multiple times to wait till he was asleep before searching his luggage, but she could never find the egg. He had caught her multiple times while she was searching, and merely blasted her across the room with his wand before going back to sleep.

The thought of cursing him while he was sleeping had crossed her mind multiple times, and she would’ve done so too, but she quickly found out that unfortunately, he had placed a shield around himself that would wake him up if anyone tried to attack it. It wasn’t a strong shield. She had broken through it many times already, though he was quickly awake whenever she managed to break it. And he was _mad_ when she did.

However, it seemed like he himself hadn’t managed to figure out what the next task was. He still paced around angrily, trying to figure out what the clue meant. She knew, however, that he would never ask her. Just like if their positions were swapped, she would never hand the egg to him.

However, it made her feel helpless. There was nothing she could do.

“Hey, Ron, over here.”

Hermione whirled around. There weren’t very many people who called her by her first name, especially the shortened version of it. She spotted Charlie Weasley hiding behind a pillar, looking around nervously to see if there were any people walking by who could see them. He motioned her inside an empty room, and she followed quickly.

 “You’re not my brother,” Charlie said simply when the two of them were inside and he had locked the room and placed a silencing charm around it.

 “No, I’m not,” Hermione admitted. She told herself she would never tell anyone her secret, but this was Charlie Weasley they were talking about. He was Ron’s brother. Surely she could trust him. “The story’s kind of complicated, though.”

 “I’ve got time.” As a matter of fact, so did she. There was nothing she had been planning to do anyway except sulk and make one final attempt to take the egg from Tom. Perhaps Ron’s brother had some useful information for her.

 “My name’s Hermione Granger,” she introduced herself. Charlie’s forehead wrinkled; clearly, the name did not come up as familiar in his brain, though she hadn’t expected it to. Also, she was grateful that the fact that she was a woman didn’t immediately make him curse her. “I worked at the same place that your sister works.”

 “Ginny?” Charlie questioned, his face creased with worry. “You’re friends with Ginny? Please tell me she’s all right. We haven’t heard anything from her since she was taken away.”

“She’s fine,” Hermione answered. “As fine as servants can be, anyway.” He still didn’t seem reassured, so she added, “Ginny’s not one of the people who is beaten often. That’s usually me, because Ginny can hold her tongue in front of Rookwood better than I can.”

“I’m sorry,” Charlie said earnestly, and then his face hardened. “Are you saying that she was taken to Augustus Rookwood’s manor?” Hermione nodded. “I have received invitations for his party multiple times, though I have declined every time. It seems I will need to go to the next one.”

Hermione nodded again. “I snuck out one day and I ran into your family. I told them that I wanted to enter this competition. If I won and I revealed that I was a woman, there would be some improvement on women rights. After all, if I can prove that a woman can do the same things that men can, that would be good, wouldn’t it?”

 “I’m not so sure about that,” Charlie sighed. “Many people will think you’re making a mockery of them by entering. However, I suppose since you are here already, you may as well continue.” He looked at her up and down. “And Ron lent you some of his hair?” Hermione nodded and Charlie sighed again. “I should’ve known there was no way he could’ve possibly entered. He hates this tournament.”

“Does he?” Hermione asked, rather surprised. Ron had never mentioned it to her before. “Why?”

“You know Harry, right?” Charlie asked. Hermione nodded. “Harry’s father, James Potter, participated in the event. He was one of those people who didn’t believe in the whole ‘women are inferior’ thing. He loved Lily, Harry’s mother, perhaps a bit too much. There was another suitor for Lily. His name was Severus Snape, and he and Lily were childhood friends. Secretly, of course.” Charlie sighed. “Anyway, James thought that winning the tournament would impress Lily enough to make her love him. He was selected, and he fought bravely. However, there was an accident at the last stage that killed him.”

 “Oh no,” Hermione whispered. “That’s terrible.”

 “It is,” Charlie agreed. “It turns out that there was no need to perform such a rash action. James had planned to propose after the tournament, and Lily said that she would’ve accepted. They could’ve had a happy life together.” He shook his head. “Afterwards, Lily started drifting. She started to leave for a night, and then two nights, and then even longer. And eventually, she stopped coming back.”

“Have you seen her since then?” Hermione questioned.

“No. Never.” Charlie sighed. “Harry has become more like family to us now, though the tournament is always a sour topic for him. That is why Ron respects his feelings and doesn’t enter.” Charlie looked at her thoughtfully. “I am surprised that Ron decided to give you his hair. He usually doesn’t feel comfortable about anything to do with the competition. However, he does love Ginny, and like the rest of us, wants her to come back to us.”

 “That’s why I have to win this,” Hermione said. “I know it may not be much, and it may not work at all, but this is the only way I can try. After all, if I die trying, then no one is affected by it.”

“Don’t say that,” Charlie sighed again. He seemed to really enjoy sighing. “Listen, I’m not supposed to be telling you this, but you’re here for Ginny and not for some pureblood glory. Also, it is technically my fault that you don’t have your other egg.” Hermione nodded eagerly, leaning forward. “The next task is under water. You will have to retrieve something from underwater. You need to find a way you can swim freely or breathe freely, or preferably both. You’ll have to be under there for quite some time.” He shrugged. “Sorry, that’s all I know. They don’t tell me that much; I had to do quite a lot of snooping for just that little bit.”

 “No, that’s perfect,” Hermione said, feeling a grin spread across her face. “Thank you so much,” she was about to rush off, but then came back and gave Charlie a rather awkward hug. He looked slightly surprised—apparently, Ron didn’t hug him very often—but eventually wrapped his arms around her hesitantly.

“I’ll see you soon, hopefully,” Hermione said once they released each other. “Thank you for all you’ve done for me. That was extremely helpful. I don’t know how I could’ve passed the next stage without your help.”

She was nearly to the door when she heard Charlie speak again. “No, thank _you_ , Hermione Granger.”

-

Hermione rushed to the room to find Tom still pacing. He was ignoring her as usual, though tonight she was too happy to let it dampen her bright spirits. She hummed cheerfully as she sat down on the bed, not minding how the dark waves the rolled off Tom’s body seemed to intensify with her presence.

“Hello Tom,” she chirped happily. He cast her a dark glare before resuming his pacing. “Nice day, isn’t it?”

There was no response.

“Come on, don’t be rude,” she scolded. “I have a bit of juicy information you might want to hear about.” There was still no response. Hermione sighed and tried, “It’s about the next task.”

She looked at him curiously. He had stopped his pacing, though he had not turned around to face her. She grinned. She had successfully gotten his attention. She planned on feeding the information to him slowly, but she felt as if that would be too cruel. Besides, they only had one night left, so it would be better if they started planning immediately.

“It’s underwater,” she blurted out. Tom finally turned to look at her, an eyebrow raised. She hadn’t seen his face without anger in such a long time that it was such a foreign sight. However, it wasn’t a bad one at all.

“Underwater,” Tom mused, resuming his pacing again. “I suppose that’s why the egg never stopped its shrieking. It’s supposed to be listened to underwater.”

That was why Phineas kept hinting that she should take a bath. Hermione scowled; if only he had told her in a clearer and nicer way, she would’ve actually been thankful that he had given her hints.

 “He says that we’ll have to be underwater for a long time too,” Hermione said, recounting Charlie’s words. “So we should find a way to either breathe or swim easily underwater, preferably both. I suppose gillyweed could work? Animagus would be the best, though we clearly don’t have enough time to learn how to change into a dolphin.”

Tom turned towards her, looking suspicious. “’He?’” he repeated suspiciously. “And who is this he?”

Hermione shook her head. “It doesn’t matter where I got the information from, Tom. It only matters what the information is.”

Tom looked like he wanted to argue, but eventually thought better of it. “Very well,” he said. “Gillyweed will work just fine. There is also another spell that would be quite helpful—”

“Mister Riddle.” McGonagall appeared at their door, the blank expression on his face as usual. “If you would please come with me. There’s something important that you need to see.”

Hermione glanced at Tom’s face, though it was quite obvious he was just as confused as she was. He got up without protest and followed McGonagall out of the room, though, without casting her another look, and then Hermione was left by herself inside the room again.

Hermione wondered what the other spell he had been about to say was. He had said it would’ve been helpful, so she was really interested; anything that was even remotely helpful was very good in her mind. However, he was already gone, so she supposed she would have to ask him when he got back.

Speaking of which, she didn’t know what McGonagall wanted to show him. It had to be pretty important for him to interrupt them while they were planning for the next task. Whatever McGonagall had to show Tom could easily be shown the next morning before the task. Why did he have to show it to Tom now?

While Hermione was pondering on her thoughts, McGonagall reappeared by the doorway, though Hermione was surprised to see no Tom behind him. “Mister Weasley, now if you would please follow me.”

Hermione was thoroughly confused, but decided that now was not the time to ask questions. Nodding, she silently followed him out of the room and through a maze of hallways. She had generally tried to stay to places about which she knew where they led, lest she got lost.

He led her into a big room and she found that there were two other occupants. Pollux Black and Abraxas Malfoy sat there, looking quite confused as well. Without his brother, Pollux Black did not seem as intimidating, and instead of glaring at her like Phineas always did, Pollux merely avoided eye contact with her. Abraxas Malfoy sat with a certain pride, or ‘pureblood dignity,’ as Ginny called it. He certainly looked like he could pass off being the king of the world.

Hermione, however, was surprised to see that Tom was not there.

“Now that I have gathered you all in one place, it is time for me to tell you the events of the next task,” McGonagall said. Hermione’s eyes widened; after that much trouble trying to get the egg from Tom to figure out the clues, he was just going to tell them? Tom would be enraged—once she found out where Tom was, that is. “Your partners are perfectly fine. We have merely put them to sleep.”

“You mean you killed them?” Hermione blurted out, never one known to be able to keep her mouth shut. Abraxas shot her a look of disgust, but Pollux merely smirked before looking back towards McGonagall.

“No, Mister Weasley, as I said, they are asleep.” If he was irritated, none of it shown on his face. But then again, Hermione wasn’t quite sure that he was capable of displaying emotion. “They are underwater. They will wake up once again after they have been rescued and taken back to the surface.”

Hermione had heard about that kind of spell before. The person underwater isn’t even aware that they are asleep until they wake up. Hermione snorted quietly; she couldn’t wait to see Tom’s reaction when he realized that the success of stage two depended on her and there was nothing he could do about it.

“You will be given the night to think about it,” McGonagall said. “Tomorrow, at seven sharp, you will be taken outside to the lake. At the very bottom, your partners are asleep. Beware that there are many obstacles in between. They may not harm your partner, but the same cannot be said for you.”

_Great. I can get killed trying to save Tom, and of course he’ll just be happily sleeping under the lake._

 “Are there any questions?” McGonagall asked. There was no response. The other two boys seemed to be at ease, and Hermione could guess that they probably already knew that this would happen. However, she hadn’t even known that the second stage was going to be underwater until only half an hour ago, and she hadn’t had the chance to discuss a plan with Tom. Not to mention he had mentioned a helpful spell that she now wouldn’t learn about until _after_ the task.

McGonagall dismissed them, and the two other boys left quickly. Hermione followed after them, pondering. She would have to acquire gillyweed then, and then she would practice some spells that would help her defeat the possible obstacles that may come in her way. Other than that, she really had no other plan as to how to get Tom out of the lake.

However, she didn’t know which was scarier: losing the competition and going back to being a slave, or Tom’s wrath. She decided that both of them were quite the motivators indeed.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The morning was chilly when she woke up. At first Hermione was going to scold herself for not waking up in the middle of the night to try one last time to steal Tom’s egg, but then she realized that there was no more egg to steal. It was the day of the second task. The egg was useless to her now. She knew what she had to do. She could either save Tom and advance to the next level or she could fail. The latter didn’t seem particularly appealing to her. Neither did the rage of her partner.

She had talked to Ron the night before, and he had asked his family to send a package of gillyweed for her. It was way too much, but it reassured Hermione that she had some backup. She thanked them profusely, and while she knew they were mostly doing this for Ginny, she couldn’t help but feel a rush of gratitude for them anyway.

Humming quietly to herself, Hermione decided to change in the room instead of the bathroom since Tom was still asleep under the lake. She quickly changed her robes and drank her Polyjuice, but she nearly dropped the remainder of it when she heard a creak.

Hermione spun around, but there was no one there. Instead, the door was slightly open. She frowned at it suspiciously. She was sure that she had closed it, and it would’ve been impossible to open it from outside unless it was her partner. He was supposed to be under the lake, though Hermione wouldn’t put it past him to have found a way to slip out.

“Tom?” Hermione whispered into an open room. There was no response, so Hermione quickly closed the door again and waved her wand in case he was disillusioned. Still nobody. Hermione sighed, convincing herself that she had merely forgotten to shut the door tightly, and went back to her changing.

She ate breakfast quickly by herself, and then stuffed the gillyweed in her pocket before taking off for the lake. The audience had moved to the lake. What they were watching for, Hermione didn’t know. The lake was rather murky, so it was hard to see what was going on inside. And the only time they would be outside the lake was when someone finished their task. It was a very boring event for spectators.

However, she soon wished that they had just prohibited an audience.

“What are you going to do, Weasley? Your flying can’t save you now!” a voice shrieked from the stands. Hermione could see the pale blonde hair and knew immediately that that must be Lucius Malfoy, Abraxas’ son. Lucius was laughing with his friends and pointing at her, making weird faces. She simply ignored them and turned to Abraxas, though he either didn’t hear them or was working on ignoring them. She decided she had to do the same; it wasn’t good if she lost her concentration before the event started.

 _“_ The contestants are ready,” McGonagall’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker. Once again, every word was spoken in a monotone. “The event will begin in three, two, _one_ …”

A loud horn was blown and immediately the crowd erupted in cheers. Hermione waddled into the lake, grabbing a fistful of gillyweed from her pocket and stuffing it into her mouth. She noticed that Pollux had decided to create an air bubble around himself and Abraxas had transformed into some kind of ugly animal. Their plans were easily employed, and they quickly disappeared into the murky water.

And then she was left as the only one on the surface, foolishly waiting until the gillyweed started working.

The crowd, for the most part, watched respectfully, wondering what her plan was. However, some of the purebloods clearly had some sort of hatred towards the Weasleys, as they started mocking her. Hermione received some jibes about her family, and even though it was actually Ron’s family, she didn’t feel any less anger towards them.

It was lucky that the gillyweed worked when it did, otherwise Hermione might have just turned around and cursed some people in the crowd. Thankfully, she felt the gills appear on her neck. She quickly dove into the water, the sound instantly fading away.

It was cold and the water stung her skin, so she cast a warming charm on herself. Her voice came out in gurgles, so she supposed it would be more effective if she used nonverbal magic. She had thought about it and practiced it a bit the night before, but by no means was she perfect at it.

 _I wonder how they picked the person to be asleep_ , Hermione thought absentmindedly as she swam downwards. _I would think that they wanted to find the person who is better at magic_. As much as she wanted to deny it, Tom could probably beat her easily in a duel. It was just amusing to watch him defend himself when they argued on who was better. _However, if that was the case, they should’ve taken Abraxas instead of Peter._

Shaking that thought from her head, she swam through a school of weird looking fish. They gave her weird glances, but seemed to deem her as not very threatening. There was still nothing that she could see—no Tom, no merpeople and thankfully no giant squid yet.

 _What would Tom do in this situation?_ Hermione smirked to herself. There was no doubt he would blow up the whole lake and manage to retrieve her in less than a minute.

 “How are you getting on?”

Hermione thought she was going to have a heart attack. She whipped around, wand at the ready to curse whoever decided to sneak up on her, and saw a ghost floating lazily in front of her, gazing at her through her thick, pearly glasses.

“Hello,” the girl giggled. “I’m Myrtle.” Before Hermione had a chance to introduce herself in this rather bizarre situation, the girl pointed. “You want to try over there! I won’t come with you…I don’t like them much, they always chase me when I get too close…”

She didn’t know whether or not to trust the girl, but now was not the time to start doubting. She had no clues anyway, so she would take whatever she could get. Hermione swam in the direction that Myrtle pointed her, thanking her profusely. Her voice still came out in gurgles, though it seemed that Myrtle understood her. Hermione had a feeling she wasn’t part of the tournament. So why did Myrtle choose to help her? It was all a mystery.

She spotted the three people; Tom, Phineas and Peter, their heads bobbing. Tom’s head was leaning on Peter’s shoulder, and Hermione smirked. He would no doubt be delighted when she told him about it.

She noted the merpeople around the group. She thought about cursing them, but decided to take the civil approach to it. She came near them slowly, but surprisingly they didn’t attack her. They let her through, their eyes following her every moment. She had thought they would stab her in the back with their spears once her back was turned, so she was extremely cautious, but they made no move to hurt her.

Hermione reached Tom and tried to shake him awake, though she knew it would not do any good; he was in a deep sleep, and as McGonagall had said, he would not wake up until he was back on the surface. She tried to free him of his bindings, but they were tight against him.

Hermione looked around for something sharp, but she couldn’t find anything.

She turned to the merpeople, but they simply laughed and shook their heads, holding their spears out of her reach.

“We do not help,” one of them said in a harsh, croaky voice.

Feeling rather annoyed, she turned back towards Tom and took out her wand. The water seemed to reduce the intensity of her spells, and the rope barely unraveled. However, she tried it multiple times and she could start to see the rope loosening.

She quickly pocketed her wand and picked up one of the rocks on the floor and jabbed at the ropes with it. Within seconds, Tom was free of his bindings and started to float upwards. She grabbed his arm to pull him back, thinking that this must be one time where he would have to forgive her for touching him. Hermione smirked to herself. She could rub it in his face later.

She then noticed that the two other contestants were not there yet. Why were they taking so long? Where were Abraxas and Pollux? Surely, even without Myrtle to direct them, there weren’t too many obstacles they could’ve faced to delay them from so long.

She reached over to start hacking at Phineas’ bindings. At once, several pairs of strong gray hands seized her. Half a dozen mermen were pulling her away from him, shaking their green-haired heads and laughing.

“You take your own hostage,” one of them said to her. “Leave the others…your task is to retrieve your own friend…leave the others…”

If she were to abide by those rules, she’d leave Tom down here to rot as well.

Before she could respond, however, Abraxas came swimming along in a badly transfigured animal which resembled a shark, though it looked quite deformed. He didn’t acknowledge Hermione at all. Instead, he snapped at Peter’s bindings, not taking particular care on Peter’s safety.

Within seconds, he had broken the bindings. He grabbed Peter roughly around the waist, and without a backward glance, began to rise rapidly with him toward the surface.

 _Now what?_ Hermione thought desperately. If she could be sure that Pollux was coming, she would leave quickly. However, there was still no sign. And as much as Phineas annoyed her, she couldn’t just leave him to _die_ …

She drew her wand and gave the merpeople her best menacing look, which was good enough to scatter them. Quickly, she cut Phineas’ ropes and dragged both him and Tom away from the bottom of the lake.

It was very slow work. She could no longer use her webbed hands to propel herself forwards; she worked her flippers furiously, but Tom and Phineas were like potato-filled sacks dragging her back down.

She was aware that the merpeople were rising with her. She could see them swirling around her with ease, watching her struggle through the water. She knew that they didn’t eat humans, but would they decide to pull her down and watch her drown? Already, she could feel the gills on her neck closing up. She needed to get out of there, and she could see the sunlight above her, but she was starting to get dizzy.

 _A little more, Hermione! You can do it! You didn’t survive so long just to drown while playing hero._ She had enough energy to glare at Tom, who was still blissfully asleep. _If I die saving you, I will come back and haunt you!_ She screamed mentally at him.

She felt her head break through the surface of the lake moments before she thought she was going to pass out due to the lack of oxygen. The crowd went wild, though she was focused on getting as much oxygen into her lungs as possible. She could feel both the bodies she was holding come back to life. Phineas coughed and looked around, slightly confused. Tom, however, calmly opened his eyes and looked at her. “It’s a good thing you got me out, Weasley, or I would’ve feared for your wellbeing.”

Hermione rolled her eyes as Phineas was assisted to the shore, where his brother fawned over him. “They’re called compliments, Riddle,” she said. “They’re quite nice. You should try them sometimes.”

Tom, however, was no longer looking at her. His eyes were narrowed at Phineas. “Why did you save him?”

Hermione rolled her eyes again. “You don’t know how scary it was under there, because _you_ were asleep.” Tom scowled at her. “I couldn’t just leave him there. I know they would never let him get hurt, but the merpeople looked like they could commit murder.”

“Then let him be killed,” Tom said angrily as the two of them reached the shore. Hermione allowed herself to be pulled up, but Tom climbed out himself, snatching the towel angrily from the person offering him it. “If his brother is too weak to retrieve him, then it is their loss.” He was nearly in her face now, spitting the words out as if they were venomous. “Because of your act of stupidity, you have ruined any chance of winning the competition. Mind your own business next time and stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Hermione was now extremely angry. Perhaps she had been wrong to stay and save Phineas, a boy that had been nothing but rude to her since the tournament had started, but it had been truly scary down there. Her mind hadn’t been working clearly. But surely there were better ways to tell her that she was wrong than to yell in her face. She had just saved _his_ life as well, after all. “It was an act of kindness,” she said bluntly. “Not that _you_ would know anything about that.”

“You are a fool for believing that.” Tom’s voice had become very quiet, though it was somehow more dangerous than when he was yelling. His voice cut through the cheering of the crowd easily, so that Hermione had no trouble hearing him. “Kindness will get you nowhere. You will merely stay in the same spot and let people trample all over you.”

Hermione scowled at him furiously, wanting to scream at him that she had let Rookwood and other pureblood men trample all over her for her entire life, and the reason she was participating in the tournament was so that she could put a stop to it. However, she decided to take a moment to calm down and tell herself that it would not be a good idea to scream out her secret to everyone listening.

By the time she looked back, Tom was gone. He had apparently already assumed the worst and decided not to stay for the scoring. She couldn’t blame him; after listening to what he had said, she supposed that he did have a point. What had she been thinking when she decided to save everyone? She could’ve grabbed Tom and just left, and she would’ve been well inside the time limit. Abraxas certainly hadn’t hesitated with Peter, so why had she been the one who decided to play hero?

Phineas and Pollux walked by, though the former did not have anything mean to say to her for once. They stank like seaweed, though Hermione was sure that she smelled the same as well. That was, however, the least of her worries.

Pollux brushed past her, and if she wasn’t mistaken, she was sure she heard the words, “Thank you.” Though, when she looked back at him, there was no sign that he had even spoken to her.

Hermione waited anxiously as McGonagall came back on the loudspeaker. Behind him were many judges, the only one who Hermione recognized was Albus Dumbledore. She had not spoken to him at all, but had read about him somewhere in the papers. Rookwood seemed to harbor a hatred towards the man. However, as Hermione glanced over, she was sure that Dumbledore winked at her.

She really had to stop imagining things.

“Gentlemen, we have reached our decision. We have decided to award points out of fifty. McGonagall announced. The crowd instantly became silent.

“Pollux Black, though he demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm, was attacked by grindylows as he approached his goal and failed to retrieve his hostage. We award him twenty-five points.”

Hermione could see Phineas and Pollux huddled in the corner, their heads bent together. It was no doubt a disappointing score for them, and Phineas glared at the scorers as if it were their fault that Pollux hadn’t reached him. Pollux, however, simply looked grateful that his brother was safe.

“Abraxas Malfoy used an incomplete form of Transfiguration, which was nevertheless effective. He was the first to return with his hostage, though he returned one minute outside the time limit of an hour. We therefore award him forty-seven points.”

Tremendous cheers could be heard. Hermione’s heart sank. If Abraxas had been outside the time limit, then she most certainly had been.

“Ronald Weasley used gillyweed to great effect,” McGonagall continued. “He returned last, and well outside the time limit of an hour. However, the Merchieftainess informs us that Mister Weasley was first to reach the hostages, and that the delay in his return was due to his determination to return all hostages to safety, not merely his own.”

The crowd was laughing at her, she was sure. They were making jibes and pointing and even throwing some things at her, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to hear the number that came out of McGonagall’s mouth. How low would it be? Surely it couldn’t be lower than Pollux’s score.

“Most of the judges feel that this shows moral fiber and merits full marks. However, because of some disagreement, Mister Weasley’s score is forty-five points.”

Hermione almost couldn’t believe what she was hearing. They had taken her action as one of bravery—or moral fiber, as McGonagall had called it—and had awarded her almost as many points as they had given Abraxas. She was still in first by five points, which was something she hadn’t expected after being so out of the time limit.

She was aware that the crowd was silent in shock. _Well, serves them right_! She huffed to herself. _That’ll teach them about laughing at me before the scores are out._

Hermione beamed and smiled, shaking the hands of the judges, though one of them looked at her rather unpleasantly. Hermione could easily guess that that judge was the reason she didn’t get a full score, but she found that she was too happy to care.

She shook Dumbledore’s hand last, and the man bowed down his head slightly. “Good luck with Tom,” he said quietly, but when Hermione looked up to ask him what he meant, he had already turned his attention to Abraxas and Peter.

Hermione hurried back to her room, eager to share the good news with Tom before he got angry enough to blow up the room. However, when she approached her room and heard a loud bang, she was sure that she was already too late.

She peeked in and saw him in the middle of the room, seemingly destroying her luggage. Hermione found that she wasn’t too angry about it; she was too happy to let anything dampen her mood.

She cheerfully opened the door and went in with a bright smile on her face. “Hey,” she greeted happily.

His hair was still wet, she noticed, though he must have dried his robes with a bit of magic. However, he was still undoubtedly angry as he glared at her and pointed his wand at her, green sparks flying out from its tip.

Hermione held her hands up. “I come bearing good news. There’s no need to attack me.” Feeling that he was about to curse her anyways, she quickly added, “We got enough points so that we’re still beating Abraxas and Peter by five points.”

“That’s not enough,” Tom said, though he was clearly relieved. He pointed his wand at the ground instead of at her, which made Hermione feel a lot better. “Your act of stupidity almost killed me, Weasley.”

“On the contrary, I believe I just saved you from eternal sleep under the lake.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “So if anything, you should thank me that I didn’t just grab Phineas and leave. I was very tempted to leave you down there.”

“Don’t be foolish. You and Black do not get along well.” The anger had vanished from his voice, and once again Hermione marveled at how he could change moods seemingly at will. He took a step closer, but Hermione was surprised that there was no menace on his face, and even more surprised that she did not flinch and take a step backwards. “And you would not have left me under that wretched lake. You would not have been able to complete the tournament by yourself. After all, what is it that they say?” He smirked, though not cruelly. “Women cannot do anything without men.”

Hermione knew quite well where that came from. It was the introduction to one of the most famous books on how to look after women.

“How?” Hermione whispered. She had never thought this moment would come, and never imagined that when it did, his face would be perfectly blank. She would’ve thought he would be furious.

 “No one has that many vials of medicine. Naturally I was curious,” Tom shrugged, as if it were natural to confess to going through her luggage. He looked her up and down. “Ginevra?”

“Excuse me?” Hermione blinked, wondering why exactly Ginny’s name was coming out of his mouth.

“Am I wrong?” Tom mused quietly to himself. Hermione noticed that he looked rather _surprised_ that he was wrong, as if he wasn’t used to being wrong often. It probably took him a great deal of courage to admit it as well.

“Yeah, I’m not Ginny.” She tried to think on how she acted like Ginny. Perhaps it was just because she and Ron were related. Ginny was loud all the time while Hermione was only so when she was passionately defending something she cared about. Ginny loved flying while she preferred books. “That girl in the bookstore that ran into you? That was me.”

Hermione watched as his face took on a disgusted look as he remembered her.

“I didn’t want you to recognize me!” she said when it looked like he was going to stick to his earlier plan and curse her. “And you have no right to look at me like that. You pushed me into a bookshelf. I still have that bruise.” She glared at him.

Tom, however, was thoughtfully pondering over something. “You have rather ugly hair,” he said finally.

Hermione stiffened. She couldn’t believe that he still remembered that about her. However, unable to come up with a proper comeback—as much as she wanted to deny it, there was very little she could say about his hair; it looked quite perfect to her—she mumbled, “Hermione.”

“Pardon me?”

“My name. Hermione Granger.”

Tom raised his eyebrow. “And what is your relation to Weasley? Acquaintances? Friends? Lovers?” His voice sounded rather bitter, and Hermione looked at him suspiciously.

“No, I worked with his sister.” Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “Why are you asking? Weren’t you the one who just told me to mind my own business?”

“Your business is my business, Hermione,” Tom purred, and Hermione took the moment to marvel at his personality change. She had expected him to get her disqualified after discovering that she was a girl. Never had she imagined that he would actually treat her _better_.

“You don’t mind?” Hermione asked in a small voice. “You don’t mind that I’m a girl?”

“No.”

“But at the bookstore…” She had to know. “You hated me so much because I was a girl. You pushed me into a bookshelf and left me there. I always thought it had something to do with my gender.”

“Not really.” Tom’s eyes glinted slightly. “I hate everyone equally.”

-

“Weasley!”

Before she could do anything, she was slammed into the wall. Her back pained immensely and she let out a small gasp. Hermione was aware that the person pinning her there was much more muscular than she was. She also noted that her arm was bent at a funny angle so that she couldn’t reach for her wand and curse her captor. In other words, she was trapped.

It was Phineas Black. For someone who she had just saved, he didn’t look particularly grateful. Instead, he was smirking at her in a threatening way, baring his teeth as a dog would. Hermione narrowed her eyes. Behind him stood Pollux, who made no move to help her.

“Going somewhere?” Phineas asked smoothly, though Hermione knew that he didn’t give a crap as to what her answer was. She wondered why he didn’t just curse her and get it over with. He was obviously enjoying conversing with her as much as she was with him.

“Yes, actually.” Hermione glared at him. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to be late. I would appreciate it if you would let me pass.” She remembered the first time she had met him. He had done the exact same thing, had he not? It seemed like the only thing he could do.

 “Not yet, Weasley. We still have some unfinished business that we have to… _discuss._ ” Phineas turned towards his twin, only to find him edging away. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Where do you think _you’re_ going, Pollux?”

“Bathroom,” the boy muttered. “Bad stomach.” He met his brother’s eyes, and Hermione noticed that he was very clearly avoiding looking at her. “I don’t think you want me to vomit on you.”

Phineas gave him a disgusted look. “Go, go,” he waved, already disinterested. Pollux sprinted off towards the end of the hall, and Hermione wanted to scream at him. _Where’s the gratitude you showed me at the lake?_ _You traitor!_

“Now, Weasley,” he leaned in closer. “Did you truly think you could get past me with that flimsy disguise? Did you think you could trick _me_?” he snarled at her and slapped her across the face. The pain stung against her skin, but Hermione was too shocked to move.

“It was fairly easy to figure out,” Phineas drawled slowly, and Hermione suddenly had a suspicion about what he was talking about. However, she kept her face blank lest she revealed something he hadn’t figured out yet. She wouldn’t give him anything for free. “I am quite surprised that you managed to keep the officials in the dark for so long, but that will change soon. Aren’t I right—” his eyes glittered slightly—“Hermione Granger?”

Hermione’s heart dropped.

“You…” She thought hard. Where could he have possibly heard her name? She had only mentioned it twice. There was no way Tom would’ve allowed him to listen in on their conversation. He was much too careful and would’ve sensed Phineas had he been listening in. That left only one person. “You were listening in on my conversation with Charlie!”

“Of course,” Phineas sneered. “Did you think a silly little silencing charm could stop me?”

Hermione had very little to say, and instead opted to glare at him. He laughed and tapped her nose a couple of times, as if she were just a little child. “In fact, I know Augustus fairly well. I think I shall give him a call.” His eyes glinted. “Tell him that one of his slaves is causing trouble. I think he’ll be just delighted, don’t you?”

No, that sounded like a terrible idea. Just the mention of his name made goose bumps rise on Hermione’s arm. Her hand had been inching down towards her wand without his notice, but before she could get it out, Phineas was suddenly blasted off of her. He hit the opposite wall and fell to the ground with a loud thud. She quickly straightened herself and withdrew her wand anyways, only to see that it was just Tom strolling casually down the hall like there was nothing abnormal about the situation.

” _Obliviate._ ” Tom pointed his wand nonchalantly at the crumpled figure. There was a short flash of light, and Tom pocketed his wand, seemingly satisfied.

Hermione gaped. “Did you just erase his memory?”

“I just erased _the_ memory.” Tom sighed, turning to smirk at her. “Granger, Granger. Have a bit more faith in my magic abilities.”

“Sh!” Hermione looked around frantically, but she didn’t see anyone. She turned back to Tom and glared; he was looking way too amused for her taste. “Stop spitting out my name everywhere. What if someone heard?”

“It is a very lovely name, isn’t it?” Tom mused as if he hadn’t heard her. “Hermione Granger. It flows rather well. Do you have a middle name?” Hermione shook her head, trying to get him to be quiet, but he interpreted the gesture differently. “No? That’s a shame. Hermione None Granger. Doesn’t quite have the same ring to it.”

“You’re hilarious,” Hermione whispered. Feeling quite mortified, Hermione reached over and clamped her hand down on his mouth, trying to get him to shut up. There was an awkward moment when she was aware of what she had just done, and the two of them just stared at each other, Hermione with embarrassment and Tom with slight amusement.

“Sorry,” Hermione muttered, removing her hand. “Didn’t mean to do that.” Tom opened his mouth, but Hermione cut him off. “No, really, I _didn’t_. It was an accident, and…” she trailed off, and then blushed. “Forget it.”

Tom smirked, but to her immense gratitude, he changed the topic. “I found this outside the room.” It was a newspaper, and the front picture was of her and Tom smiling at each other. Hermione wondered when it had been taken; as far as she knew, Tom had never smiled like that at her and there were very few instances when she _wanted_ to smile at him like that. Had they started fabricating photos as well? The newspapers must be really desperate nowadays.

“Ronald Weasley and Tom Riddle,” Hermione read, already disliking the article. “Behind the scenes of this blooming romance between two partners. Written by Richard Skeeter.” She wrinkled her nose. “I hate that man. He always comes up with the most absurd stories.”

“I don’t believe in such rubbish,” Tom said offhandedly. “However, everyone else does. And since there will undoubtedly be stories about us…” He snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her to him. She let out a rather unflattering shriek as she was crushed ungracefully into him, but it only served to further amuse him. “We might as well have some fun with it.”

Hermione stared at him suspiciously, aware of the position that they were in. “You do know that I am Ron, right?”

Tom looked at her. “You don’t give me much of a chance to forget,” he drawled. Hermione flushed. Of course he knew she was Ron right now; he looked at her more often than she looked at herself.

“You don’t mind that I look like Ron?” Hermione asked, rather surprised.

“Of course I mind. Hence why I have been trying to get you disqualified since I first saw you,” Tom said.

“And you’ve failed every time.” Hermione muttered under her breath.

“And I hardly care what you look like,” Tom continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “If I did, I would go select someone more beautiful than you. You are hardly model material.”

“Thanks,” Hermione rolled her eyes. The strange thing was, he made it sound like a compliment. And, she supposed, maybe in his mind, it was. After all, there were billions of insults to be used and he had used none of them.

“Now,” he said. “Just because you are Hermione Granger instead of Ronald Weasley does not change a thing.” Hermione glanced around nervously, having a mini heart attack whenever he said her name out loud. “My earlier promise still stands. You drag me down, and I will find a way to get you disqualified.” However, it hardly sounded like a threat now, more like a fact.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hermione waved him off, not too concerned about his threat. If she did screw up the last task anyway, it would be the end of the tournament. There would be nothing he could gain from getting rid of her then. “What about the article?”

“What about it?”

“Well, are you okay with it?” Hermione asked, looking at it. Personally, even though she hated Richard Skeeter and his lies, that article was the least of her worries. So what if it said that she and Tom were in a ‘blooming romance?’ She hardly cared. However, for Tom, who was actually in the tournament for the glory, the article might ruin his perfect reputation.

There was a pause. And then Tom said slowly, “I don’t mind.”

That was enough for Hermione. The two of them bickered on their way back to their room, but it was playful banter. Never once did she feel particularly threatened by him. It was not a walk in a park though; their stubborn pride clashed and prevented them from coming to any agreement.

However, Hermione found that she rather enjoyed their debates and discussions. For once in her life, she didn’t mind being wrong, as long as it was Tom who was proving her incorrect. Not that she ever told him, of course. His ego was big enough already that any more inflating and it would burst. For any other man, she would wish with her heart that it would burst and kill him. But, she supposed, Tom was an exception on all accounts.

She was so busy debating with him that she failed to notice the pair of dark eyes that followed them as they made their way down the hallway.

-

Hermione gritted her teeth angrily as she was dragged into a broom closet. Tom, on the other hand, seemed to take enjoyment in her anger and merely looked amused as he too was hauled into the dusty little room.

The officials had made some kind of rule that the contestants had to be interviewed for at least one article during the tournament. She had tried to argue that Richard Skeeter had already published a gossip article regarding her relationship with Tom. However, the officials had said that since it did not include words that were straight out of her and Tom’s mouths, it would not be deemed as a proper interview.

“Excellent! Lovely.” Skeeter thrust both of them into the room and closed the door behind him. They were instantly enveloped in darkness, and Hermione would’ve tripped over her own feet had Tom not caught her. His chuckles sounded too close to her ears so she moved away from him and dusted herself off.

Skeeter lit a few candles that he pulled out of his bag. A large quill also appeared besides him, floating in mid air. Hermione stared at it. She had never seen this kind of magic before. Did the quill write on its own? She didn’t like Skeeter’s writing style too much, but she had to admire his gadgets.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” Skeeter said. Hermione looked around and wrinkled her nose; she could get anything _but_ comfortable in this stuffy closet. She was forced to sit on an upturned bucket, pressed against a wall she was sure hadn’t been cleaned in decades.

“Sir, this is a broom closet,” Hermione pointed out. Tom smirked, though the environment didn’t seem to bother him too much. She noticed that he was sitting too close to her to be accidental. His leg kept brushing up against hers, and if Skeeter hadn’t been there, she wouldn’t have hesitated to slap his foot away.

“Yes, yes.” Skeeter waved her off, as if the small cramped place was normal for an interview and didn’t bother him at all. He noticed her staring at his quill. “You don’t mind if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill, do you, Ronald?” Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. She had never heard of such a quill. “It leaves me free to talk to you normally…”

Hermione glanced at Tom, but his face was giving nothing away. It was rare that she didn’t know something, and she didn’t want to give Tom the satisfaction of knowing that he knew more than her. She huffed slightly, and turned back towards Skeeter, giving the man a quick nod. “I don’t mind.”

Skeeter’s smile widened. Hermione counted three golden teeth. “Testing…my name is Richard Skeeter, _Daily Prophet_ reporter.”

**Attractive blond Richard Skeeter, forty-three, whose savage quill has punctured many inflated reputations—**

“Lovely,” said Skeeter, and he ripped the top-most piece of parchment off, crumpled it up, and stuffed it into his handbag. Hermione stared at the parchment in disgust.

Skeeter, if he noticed her reaction, didn’t comment on it. Instead, he leaned towards Tom. “Why don’t we start with you, Tom? Do you think that the trauma in your past might have made you keen to prove yourself?”

Tom looked confused, an expression Hermione hardly saw on his face. However, he said politely, “Excuse me?”

“Can you remember your parents at all?” Skeeter asked.

Tom’s face immediately darkened, though Skeeter didn’t seem to notice. Hermione, on the other hand, could feel his magic rolling off of him, pressing her even more against the wall. She didn’t know about Tom’s family. He had never talked to her about his past. But then again, there had only been very few instances where they had conversed civilly.

“No,” said Tom shortly. Hermione could see his hand drifting towards his robe pocket.  Hermione gently nudged his foot, reminding him that it was a bad idea. No matter how annoying Skeeter could be, he was not worth getting kicked out of the tournament for.

Tom, however, didn’t seem to be in the mood. He retaliated by kicking Hermione in the shins, and she gasped out in pain. Since the closet was dark, Skeeter either didn’t see or ignored the action. Hermione noticed with relief, though, that Tom’s hand had stopped its path down to his wand and instead was clenched in front of him in a tight fist.

“How do you think they’d feel if they knew you were competing in the Triwizard Tournament? Proud? Worried? Angry?” Skeeter pressed, oblivious to the dark looks that both Tom and Hermione were giving him.

Tom looked really annoyed now. Hermione could deduce that his parents were probably dead, though she hadn’t wished to find out like this. Perhaps she hadn’t been treating him too fairly. He was an orphan, so he deserved a bit more of her pity, did he not?

However, she thought back to the insufferable smirk he always wore, his annoying remarks and his enormous ego, and all thoughts of sympathy flew out the window.

Tom was still openly scowling at Skeeter, who despite the glasses, seemed unable or unwilling to see Tom’s dark expression. The sound of scratching could be heard as Hermione frowned and glanced down at the words the quill had just written.

**Tears fill those startling grey eyes as our conversation turns to the parents Tom Riddle can barely remember.**

Tom’s face contorted in fury, but before he could say anything, Hermione jumped to her feet, nearly knocking over the bucket she was sitting on. “He does _not_ have tears in his eyes!” Hermione protested, unsure of why she suddenly had an urge to protect her partner’s honor. Perhaps it was because she didn’t want the public to think that she was working with a soft, lonely, sad boy. She wanted everyone to know the insufferable, annoying git that she had been forced to work with.

“Ronald, I have a couple of questions for you as well,” Skeeter said, completely ignoring Hermione’s previous statement. Hermione sat down quickly, glad that a catastrophe had been avoided. Tom wasn’t looking at Skeeter; instead, he seemed to have redirected his anger and glared at the wall.

“How do you feel about entering the tournament?” Skeeter leaned forward, almost touching Hermione. She felt slightly uncomfortable as her back was pressed against the wall. There wasn’t much place for movement in the closet. “Excited? Nervous?”

“I suppose I am a little bit of both,” Hermione said, though she stared suspiciously as the quill whirled to write a lot more words than the ones that had just come out of her mouth.

“Champions have died in the past, haven’t they?” said Skeeter briskly. “Have you thought about that at all?”

“Not particularly,” Hermione said, rather disliking the questions. The quill whizzed across the parchment between them, back and forth as though it were skating, no doubt writing words that had never come out of her mouth.

“What about your friend?” Skeeter pressed. “Harry Potter, isn’t it?” Hermione immediately tensed. She had never really got over Charlie’s story. “How would he feel if he knew that you were dishonoring him by entering?”

Hermione blinked. “Harry does know,” she said, though she wasn’t entirely sure that was true. She thought that Ron would’ve told his friend. That, or Harry would see Ron in the news eventually. “And why would I be dishonoring him?”

“His father died in the tournament, didn’t he?” Tom was still glowering at the wall, though Hermione could tell that he was listening. “How do you feel about this?”

“That is between me and Harry,” Hermione said shortly, feeling a surge of anger flow through her body at the man’s insistent questioning. “I don’t feel that it is of the public’s concern.”

“This is the first time in history that six people were selected instead of three,” Skeeter continued, as if he hadn’t heard Hermione. “How do you feel about the partnership? Happy? Annoyed?”

“Annoyed, definitely.” Hermione sniped. Tom snorted, seeming to be a little less angry than he had been a few moments ago.

“You have read my article, have you not?” asked Skeeter briskly. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, but Skeeter ignored her completely. He turned, instead, towards Tom. “How did you like it?”

“It was terrible,” Tom said shortly, scowling at the offending man. Skeeter, however, seemed to take Tom’s statement as sarcasm because he looked quite pleased with himself. The quill started writing again, and Hermione looked at the parchment to see what other absurd sentences it came up with.

**Tom Riddle admits that the rumors surrounding him and his partner, Ronald Weasley, are true.**

Hermione blinked at it, and then looked at Skeeter sourly. “That’s not true,” Hermione told the reporter. “Tom said that it was terrible. I think you should get the quill checked. It’s not very good at doing its job, is it?”

“Neither,” Tom muttered darkly, “is he.”

“Ignore the quill,” Skeeter waved her off. Before Hermione could protest, Skeeter went on to his next question. “You and your partner get along well, do you not?” This was directed towards Hermione.

“That is the biggest overstatement of the year,” Hermione muttered, and Tom snorted. Skeeter, who appeared to not have heard her, was still looking at her expectantly. Hermione sighed. “I suppose so.”

**Ronald Weasley’s eyes fail to leave his partner’s as he regards Tom Riddle with absolute love and devotion.**

Hermione glared furiously at the offending parchment, registering Tom smirking at her out of the corner of her eyes. Ron was going to murder her if he found out that there were rumors about him and Tom, a boy he had probably never met before.

“Don’t mind him,” Tom told Skeeter before Hermione could speak up. “That is very much correct, despite the excuses that he may come up with.” Skeeter looked quite pleased with himself, and the quill began moving again.

Hermione glowered at her partner, though he wasn’t looking at her. Why did he keep trying to promote her supposed relationship with him? They both knew there was nothing. And they were also aware that it was not _her_ , Hermione Granger’s _,_ relationship with Tom. It was Ron’s. Why would he want to publicize a fake relationship with Ron?

Knowing Tom, it was probably just to watch her squirm.

“You saved Phineas Black from the lake on the second task,” Skeeter said. “How do you feel about that?”

“How did I feel?” Hermione blinked. “I don’t know. Heroic? Shouldn’t you ask Phineas instead? I’m sure he’ll have a lot more to tell you than I can.”

“The judges awarded you almost full points,” Skeeter talked right over her. “Many people believe that you didn’t do anything to deserve those. What is your response to them?”

Her response? Why would she need a response? They could talk all they wanted to. It didn’t mean that she needed to respond to them. “I am very thankful that the judges gave me the amount of points that they did,” Hermione said finally.

“How about you, Tom?” Skeeter asked. “Were you disappointed that Ronald stayed to help Phineas?”

Tom had been more than disappointed, but the public didn’t need to know about their little disagreement. Seeing that Tom had no intention of responding, Hermione jumped in, smirking slightly. “He was very jealous,” she told Skeeter, trying to keep herself from laughing. Tom snorted for what seemed to be the fiftieth time, though he made no move to correct her.

Perhaps, like he had said, they _could_ have a little fun with this. She would just have to apologize to Ron later for starting rumors about him. He wouldn’t be too mad, she hoped. After all, by the time he got back from America, the rumors would have most likely died down.

Besides, Skeeter was most likely going to publish lies about them anyway. It didn’t really matter what they said, since he was going to twist the words out of their mouths into whatever he wanted. She might as well enjoy herself since her responses didn’t make any difference to Skeeter.

Skeeter’s eyes lit up like a boy who had received his Christmas gift early. “Do you have any other comments regarding that?” he asked eagerly. Hermione almost laughed at the hungry look on the reporter’s face, but managed to keep a nonchalant expression.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do,” Hermione said, watching as the quill nearly broke in half trying to get down everything that was being said. “Tom and I love each other so much. We conjure roses for each other every day and at night we serenade to each other and declare our love.” Tom looked at her with a fairly amused expression on his face. She fought the urge to smirk back at him and instead worked on keeping the lovesick look her face. “We hold hands while we sleep.”

Tom snorted loudly, and Hermione had to cough to prevent herself from laughing outright. Skeeter, however, ever so oblivious, looked downright delighted. “Is that so? Tom serenades?” Hermione nodded, a bit too eagerly, but Skeeter didn’t notice. “Perhaps, he would like to serenade right now?” Skeeter looked hopeful, digging into his bag to no doubt retrieve a camera to capture the moment.

“Absolutely not,” Tom said.

“You must excuse him,” Hermione piped in, “I’m afraid he’s a bit…shy.” Hermione almost lost it right there. Tom was anything _but_ shy. “He only likes to serenade to me.” She glanced at him so Skeeter couldn’t see her smirk. “Isn’t that right, _honey_?”

“Very true, darling,” Tom drawled, looking very amused as she tried not to fall to the floor laughing at such a ridiculous situation. She had never thought she would ever meet such a stupid man, but clearly Skeeter easily proved her wrong. It seemed like he had not yet figured out that they had stopped taking the interview seriously a long time ago.

“Oh, don’t feel disappointed,” Hermione reassured Skeeter when the man looked crestfallen that Tom had refused to sing. “You honestly aren’t missing out on much.”

“What he means to say is my voice is too beautiful for your ears,” Tom said, causing Skeeter to look even more dejected than he already did. “Once you hear it, everything else will seem terrible. It is like a drug.”

Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes as Tom’s ego came through once again. Skeeter, however, looked at him hopefully. “I think I can handle it,” he said.

“Oh no, I don’t think so,” Hermione smiled sweetly at him, before pretending to look at the nonexistent watch on her wrist. “Oh my, look at how late it is. It’s time for us to go.” Ignoring Skeeter’s protests, she turned to Tom and gave him the cheesiest grin she could muster. Tom smirked back in return. “Come along, love, it’s time to exchange chocolate roses.”

“Very well,” Tom’s lips curled as he stood up. He opened the door, and the harsh sunlight filled the closet. Hermione blinked rapidly, her eyes trying to get used to the sudden light. Tom turned towards the reporter, who was still perched precariously “I would say it has been nice to meet you, but it really hasn’t,” he drawled.

“Manners, darling,” Hermione smacked his arm teasingly. Tom smirked at her and pulled her out of the closet. It felt nice not to be in a cramped little room, and she stretched out her stiff arms.

“Yes, yes,” Tom sighed. He glanced back at Skeeter, and instantly the man’s parchment was on fire. The man yelled and scrambled away in horror, but Tom merely laughed and pulled Hermione away. The last thing Hermione saw of the reporter was him looking down remorsefully at the parchment, which had been reduced to nothing more than burnt ashes.

Once they were away from the broom closet, Hermione burst out laughing and had to lean against the wall to hold herself up. Tom was much more composed, though he looked very amused, much better than the dark look he had gotten in the beginning when the topic of his family had come up.

“That was entertaining,” Tom smirked. He didn’t seem upset at the rumors that Hermione had undoubtedly started. Even without his parchment, Skeeter could easily spread the gossip quite quickly.

“Yes,” Hermione giggled, still struggling to compose herself. “I usually don’t laugh at people, but that man is a liar, so I’ll make an exception. I don’t think I have ever met anyone more oblivious in my life.”

“Not everyone can be as smart as you, Granger,” Tom said softly. Hermione blinked at him, sure that she was hearing the first compliment to come out of his mouth. When he saw the hopeful look on her face, he smirked and added, “Other than me, of course. I will always be smarter.”

“Of course. Tom Riddle is the best,” Hermione said sarcastically.

Tom cast her an amused glance. “Glad you know that, _darling_.”

They walked back to their room in silence, though it wasn’t tense as it had been before. They seemed to understand each other on a different level now. She, for one, was much more comfortable around him than before. Perhaps him finding out that she was a girl helped lift a giant weight off of her shoulders.

They were almost to the door when a thought suddenly popped into her mind. “Does this mean you’ll serenade for me tonight?”

 -

“Mister Weasley, I assume that you know why you were called here.”

Hermione blinked. She had been called to the office. She had expected something little, but this was obviously not a trivial matter. All of the officials, other than Dumbledore, were present. Was it something that she had done wrong? Had Skeeter complained about his burnt parchment?

“No sir, I’m afraid I do not.” She bit her lip nervously. Maybe it was for the third task. Maybe they had to do something to her like they had done to Tom. It seemed plausible, but they did not need this many people to speak to her. Also, she doubted that they would pull the same trick twice.

If not that, then what?

McGonagall said, “Mister Weasley, we have been notified by a source that has requested to remain anonymous that you are, in fact, a woman taking Polyjuice Potion to take the appearance of Ronald Weasley. Am I correct to assume that this is the truth?”

Hermione’s heart started beating faster and she felt her hands sweating profusely. “Sir,” she began, not quite sure what she was about to say. Her lips felt dry, and she was so nervous that her whole body seemed to be itching.

“Do not lie,” said a man with an angry expression on his face. Hermione recognized him as the reason she had not got a perfect score on the second task. She had learned his name was Karkaroff, though that didn’t help her with her current predicament. “It will only make it worse for you if you do so.” He smiled at her, though it was disturbing and there was nothing sincere about it. “Don’t you think you’ve already lied enough?”

“With all due respect, sir,” Hermione said, directing her statement towards McGonagall. “Do you have any proof before you start making such accusations?” She locked eyes with him. “You must understand that this is a rather serious accusation.”

“Yes, I am aware,” McGonagall nodded. “The person has requested to be kept anonymous, but he brought us a vial of Polyjuice Potion from your suitcase. We,” he gestured towards the other officials, “Believe that to be enough evidence.”

Hermione opened her mouth, but she was cut off by Karkaroff. “The situation is bad enough for you. Lying will only make it worse.” He smiled eerily, and Hermione noticed that several of his teeth were chipped.

 _You didn’t give me a choice_ , Hermione thought dryly. _Since you’re so set on your accusations, why did you even call for me? Why not just send me home?_

“As you are aware, Mister Weasley, having a female enter the competition is against the rules,” McGonagall said as if he hadn’t heard Hermione. “We have a piece of parchment here that states that you have read and understood the rules. Your signature is underneath.”

_Who actually reads the terms and conditions?_

“You have violated many rules,” simpered a man to her left. Hermione immediately recognized him as Umbridge, the man who imposed strict discipline on all women. He, along with Richard Skeeter and Rookwood, were amongst the men that Hermione truly hated. She had been truly surprised when he had given her a full score for the second task. It was probably something he regretted doing now. “You have disgraced this tournament, and you shall be punished.”

“Mister Weasley,” McGonagall cut Umbridge off, and Hermione saw a slight hint of annoyance skirt across his face. Hermione raised an eyebrow; she had never seen McGonagall show any emotion, so Umbridge must be truly annoying to merit such an expression. “It is not our goal to get you disqualified.”

Hermione stared at him. ‘ _Well, you’re doing a good job of convincing me otherwise_ ,’ she wanted to snarl at him. Instead, she bit back her words and stared at the ground, waiting for McGonagall to continue speaking.

“However, many people will not be pleased that there is a woman in the competition,” McGonagall said. Hermione could’ve sworn she saw a look of sympathy flash across his face. However, it was gone as soon as it came.

“This is not one of your foolish games,” Umbridge said, and her hate for him increased. She wasn’t here to play _games_. She had an actual purpose for competing, as opposed to just entering for pureblood pride. “This is an important tournament that has been held for centuries. Because of your impudence, the tournament has been soiled with filth.”

“Excuse me?” Hermione asked shrilly, unable to hold back any longer. She glared at Umbridge, though the man smiled sweetly back at her. She stuck her face close to his, absentmindedly noting that it was something Tom would do and that she should stop learning his habits. “What did you say?” she asked darkly, narrowing her eyes.

It was not Umbridge, however, but Karkaroff, who replied. “Women are filth,” he snarled. “They are purely disgusting. They exist only to be slaves. Nothing more.”

“Just because we don’t have a Y chromosome does not mean that we’re inferior,” Hermione shot back, unaware that she just accidentally confirmed their accusations. “In fact, without women, life can’t go on.”

“That’s right,” Karkaroff said quietly. “Women are merely dolls that we play with. We throw them away when we’re done. They live only to stay in the house and to satisfy men when needed.” He grinned nastily. “Though I suppose that you must be truly desperate to have entered in this tournament.”

“Igor,” McGonagall warned quietly. “There’s no need to start an argument.”

“I certainly did not come here to be ‘played with,’” Hermione said hotly, ignoring McGonagall completely. “I came here to prove that I can do just as well as everyone else in this tournament. I was doing fairly well, and you would never have known about my true gender had you not received that vial of Polyjuice.”

“We would have figured it out,” Umbridge cut in. “After all, you were trailing in the scores. The only reason why you still stand in first place is because of your partner. Do not flatter yourself by thinking that those points were earned by you.”

Hermione was nearly fuming with anger. “So Tom managed to rescue himself from the lake, did he?” she argued. “He just managed to cut himself free and floated upwards in his sleep while I was doing nothing, is that what you’re trying to say?”

McGonagall sighed and cut both Umbridge and Karkaroff before they could say anything else. All of the other officials were watching the argument quietly, some of them giving Hermione heated glares while the others sent her looks of indifference. Hermione, however, made sure they were looking when she turned and glowered at them.

“Nevertheless, Mister Weasley, you have broken an important rule and we cannot overlook that.” Umbridge looked triumphant, though McGonagall seemed to enjoy this no more than Hermione did. He looked as if he wished he were anywhere but here. “I’m afraid that you will be asked to leave the tournament. Are there any other questions you have?”

“No, sir.” The anger had left her as quickly as it had come, and Hermione found herself staring at the ground. She had never been much of a crier, but she was forced to focus on not letting the tears spill out of her eyes.

“Your partner will be disqualified as well since he did not inform us of your gender,” McGonagall said, and Hermione’s head whipped up. “Either you may tell him, or he will be informed by one of the officials later in the day.”

“That’s not fair, sir,” Hermione shook her head. “Tom didn’t know of my gender. He has nothing to do with this.” She couldn’t have Tom disqualified because of her. “Please allow him to stay and continue.”

“I’m afraid I cannot do that. We received knowledge that he does indeed know of your gender and kept it a secret despite the rules.” Hermione wanted to murder the person who had told them. What was the purpose of that? Who would hate her enough to do so?

“Sir.” Hermione bowed her head. “Please, sir, don’t disqualify him.”

McGonagall shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, Mister Weasley, but the decision is final. If that is all, you may return to your room now to pack.”

Noticing that she was being dismissed, she trudged out of the room, trying to ignore the triumphant looks that both Umbridge and Karkaroff were giving her. She hated them all. She even hated McGonagall. While he had not been as mean, he had done nothing to stop either Tom’s or her disqualification.

Once she was far away from the room, she allowed the tears to flow freely down her cheeks. She had got so far. She had not expected to get so far, yet she had tripped now that the finish line was so close. She had started getting careless, and that had cost her. She had been kicked out of the tournament, and because of her actions, Tom had as well.

Tom…she didn’t even want to think about how he would react. Would he hurt her? That was the least of her worries. She didn’t want to see the disappointed look on his face and the anger that would soon follow. She would never see his smirk again, the way his lips curled up when he was amused. He would be angry at her forever and curse her name whenever it came up.

Slowly, she trudged back to her room.

 


	4. Chapter 4

“Tom!” Hermione flew into the room. She thought that she must have looked quite the sight, her hair sticking up all over the place and her face sweaty from running.

Tom sat on the bed, reading one of his books. She had found out that he had brought many of them, though she had frowned upon them since all of them were dark. She was against restricting knowledge, but she believed that there were better books to be read during free time. He, of course, disagreed.

Tom glanced over at her when she stormed into the room, barely looking at her before going back to his book. Hermione huffed at him, feeling terribly impatient, but he resumed his reading and did not look at her.

She felt angry at him. Of course, it was not his fault. However, Hermione felt as though she was being brushed aside without being given a second look again. The officials had done that with her. They had simply disqualified both her and Tom once they had found out. They hadn’t even given her a chance to prove herself.

“Come with me,” she growled, nearly yanking him off the bed. He glared at her as he managed to regain his balance, though his book wasn’t so lucky. It flew across the room and hit the wall, snapping shut as it fell to the floor. “Never mind that. Bring your wand.”

Tom raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t ask questions,” Hermione snapped. Tom looked at her quizzically, and Hermione could almost see the sudden flash of anger that would appear if she told him about their disqualification. Suddenly, not able to look at him any longer, she spun around and headed to the door. “I’ll be outside. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Hermione paced around outside. There had to be another way; they couldn’t just disqualify Tom for something that someone else had said. She needed to clear her mind. She was too angry to think, and she needed to find somewhere to redirect anger. It wouldn’t do to think with such a clouded, emotional mind. She would end up making a rash decision that she would come to regret later.

Tom stepped out into the hallway, looking at her warily. Hermione was pleased to see, however, that he held his wand in his hand. He looked around, as if he expected fireworks to erupt out of nowhere.

“Was there something you wanted?” Tom asked as he shut the door behind him.

As soon as the door was closed, Hermione whipped out her wand and screamed, “ _Expelliarmus!_ ”

A jet of red light flew out of the tip of her wand and rushed toward Tom. There was a slight look of shock on his face, but he waved his wand easily and the spell collided with a shield. She felt rather disappointed that it hadn’t hit him, though she hadn’t really expected a simple disarming spell to take him down.

“Hermione, are you all right?” Tom commented dryly, looking at her as though she had sprouted horns. “Did something happen in the official’s office?”

“ _Don’t call me by my name!_ ” she shrieked at him, determined to steer the conversation away from what had happened in the office. “ _Petrificus totalus!_ ”

Tom lazily waved the spell away. “As you wish, Weasley,” he said, though he now looked at her suspiciously. Hermione could almost see the gears turning in his head, and she sent him another spell to keep his mind from thinking. She knew he was smart, and she had no doubt that he would be able to figure it out if she gave him proper time to think.

Well, it was too bad for him that she wasn’t going to do so.

“ _Avis!_ ” she said, waving her wand as several birds appeared in front of her. She had always found this spell fascinating, though she had no idea why. She was practically sending birds to their doom, but she liked the spell too much to care. Besides, she reasoned with herself, they were conjured birds. Non-living.

Tom raised an eyebrow when he saw the animals. “Are you going to peck me to death?” he asked, looking very amused. It suddenly occurred to Hermione that he had not attacked her at all and seemed to take enjoyment at the slow pace of the duel.

“ _Oppugno!_ ” she yelled, and the birds flew toward him. Hermione sighed in frustration as Tom waved his wand again, and the birds caught on fire and turned to ashes. She then growled at Tom—an actual, bearlike growl—and bared her teeth at him menacingly. Tom narrowed his eyes at her. “Attack me!” she demanded.

“Are you drunk?”

“I most certainly am not!” Hermione said. _Perhaps drunk on anger, but I’ve never been drunk my whole life!_ “Attack me, Tom, or are you too scared to hurt a girl? Don’t worry, Tom. Your spell won’t hit me anyway.”

She was taunting him, trying to rile him up to get him to duel her properly. She was aware that it wasn’t the best idea, though it _felt_ right. Tom’s eyes darkened, but he seemed to contain his magic and told her, “It’s called being a gentleman, Weasley. Not that you know anything about that.”

“Prove it,” Hermione said. “You have to prove it to me if you want me to believe it. You need evidence. Stupid, freaking evidence.” She thought of the person who had delivered the vials of Polyjuice Potion to the officials, and felt a renewed sense of anger in her. If she ever found out who had done it, she would murder them and then bring them back so she could kill them again. But perhaps that was too mean. She didn’t kill, after all. But she could seriously maim.

Tom looked at her. “Why would I need to prove it to you?” he asked slowly. He always seemed to jump to using magic, and now he was clearly holding back against her. Was it because she was a girl? Did he think that she would not be able to handle it? She had thought him to be different, but he was just as sexist as the rest of them!

“You need to prove it to me. I’m your partner.” The words sounded sour on her tongue. In a few hours, she would no longer be his partner. They would be packing bags and going in separate directions, never seeing each other again. “Prove it, Tom. Please, attack me.” She was aware that she was begging now. When he still gave no indication of casting a spell, she screamed at him. “ _ATTACK ME, YOU COWARD!_ ”

If Tom was surprised by her outburst, he didn’t show it. Instead, he mockingly bowed at her and said, “Whatever the lady wishes.”

The next thing she knew, a flash of light was speeding her way. _Finally!_ She needed to get her mind off of the office. She needed to forget her disqualification.

For the couple of minutes that they exchanged spells, her mind would be taken off of what would soon happen.  She would focus entirely on the duel and on Tom, because Merlin knew how much she just wanted to forget.

“ _Protego!_ ” She set up a shield for herself, though it was easily demolished. Hermione dove out of the way of another colorless spell, and it hit the wall with a loud “crack,” burning a hole straight through it. However, Tom gave her no time to stop and admire it. He sent the next spell toward her, and she dragged her mind back to the duel.

He excelled at the art of dueling, she could see that. His movements were fluent and elegant, almost as if he were dancing. There was no visible strain as he shot spell after spell toward her. He seemed to be enjoying himself as he watched Hermione scrambling all over the floor. The duel was nothing more than a walk in the park for him.

Hermione had never stopped to admire his spell casting skills, and now she really wished that she had done so earlier. It was almost… _beautiful_ to watch, though she would never tell him that. The way he cast spell after spell easily made Hermione think that this was what he was made for. She had thought him to be more of the studious kind, though she was clearly mistaken; Tom would be much more suited for the battlefield.

“ _Serpernsortia!_ ” she cast when she had a chance. A large snake fell in front of Tom, hissing. However, rather than looking even remotely scared, he instead looked quite amused. To her surprise, he walked toward it, seeming to have no intention of just incinerating it as he had done to her birds.

Hermione watched in astonishment as Tom looked down at the snake and started _hissing_ at it. Immediately, the snake curled up, seeming to deem Tom no longer a threat, and hissed back. The two of them exchanged a couple of words before Tom smirked, and with a wave of his wand, the snake disappeared.

“You…” Hermione trailed off, aware that her mouth was wide open. “You’re a _Parselmouth?_ ”

“Of course I am,” Tom said, as if it would be a crime if he wasn’t. He sighed. “Just another area where I am more advanced than you. How many is that now? A hundred? Perhaps even two.”

Hermione scowled at him and said, “ _Rictusempra!”_ The spell zoomed toward him, but she was especially disappointed when it didn’t hit. She wanted to see what Tom would look like if he was being tickled. Surely, no one could still look attractive when they were rolling on the floor, laughing.

But then again, Tom had proved her wrong multiple times already.

Tom smirked, and then the spells he sent became increasingly darker. Hermione’s eyes widened and she threw herself out of the way, but Tom didn’t seem fazed by it at all. She even caught one or two Unforgivables coming out of his wand and she glared at him when she wasn’t busy dodging, but he didn’t seem bothered by them.

“Hold on,” Hermione gasped during a brief moment when Tom stopped. She held her hands up in the “T” shape. “Time out. You can’t use dark curses, and you most certainly cannot use Unforgivables. They’re unforgivable for a reason.”

“Why not?” Tom asked silkily. His eyes were darker, and his magic seemed to crack around him. Hermione shuddered slightly, and based on the smirk that he sent her, he had seen the action. “You cannot tell your enemy not to use certain curses on you. You have to be prepared for everything.”

Hermione stood up shakily to her feet. “You are not my enemy, Tom.”

Tom looked very amused. “Everyone is your enemy, Hermione.” Her name rolled so nicely off his tongue that she forgot that she had told him not to call her by her name. “Some are just better at hiding it than others.”

Hermione blinked and then pointed her wand at him. “Be prepared, then,” she called. “This is _war_.”

“Yes, yes,” Tom commented dryly, not looking particularly concerned. “I have never seen such a one sided war. I must say, you are rather proficient in the art of diving. I have not seen you do anything else since I have started dueling.”

Hermione puffed up her cheeks. “I was being considerate and not attacking you back!” she yelled. “You should take a few lessons from me.”

Tom raised his eyebrow. “Now why would I need to be considerate? I was under the impression that the goal was to seriously hurt the opponent. I do not see how being considerate would help me in the slightest way.”

Hermione frowned. “This is my first duel, okay? Take it easy on me. I’m still learning how to use this thing,” she held up her wand, “I had never touched a wand before I got here, so I’m still learning the proper wand movements.”

“You were a slave?” Tom sounded surprised.

“Yes, why do you sound so surprised?” Hermione rolled her eyes, slowly making her way over to him. “I am certainly not old enough to be married to some old creep. Girls under the age of twenty-one are forced into slavery. It is a rule that they have to stay in their master’s manor.”

“You are doing a _marvelous_ job with that.” Tom smirked.

He was so close to her now. She grinned at him. Before he could do anything but look at her suspiciously, she blasted him in the face with her wand. He flew backward, and Hermione giggled when she saw his front teeth enlarging. Rookwood had used that one on her back at the manor, and she had been mortified for _months_ until Rookwood had decided that he’d had enough fun and shrunk them again.

“ _Granger_ …” Tom growled, looking down at his mouth. He could now see his own teeth. Hermione giggled. Based on the fact that he hadn’t removed it, she could say that he didn’t know how to do so. It wasn’t a common every day spell, that was for sure. Very few books mentioned it, and the few that did were mostly prank books.

“Remove it,” Tom ordered, casting spell after spell at his enlarged front teeth. They did him very little good. The only thing he succeeded in doing was making them blue. He tried to blast them off, and Hermione winced from just _watching_ him do so. However, Tom barely flinched as he very nearly pulled out his two front teeth by force.

“Remove what?” Hermione asked, giggling slightly. This was the only time she would be able to best Tom, so she was going to enjoy it while it lasted. As soon as the teeth were shrunk back to their normal size, she would never be able to land another attack on him. “They look the same to me.”

Tom scowled at her and sent a spell her way. She avoided it fairly easily since the teeth were hindering him more than she thought they would, as his actions were slower. “ _Langlock!_ ” she cried, flicking her wand.

Tom dispatched it rather easily and raised his eyebrow at her. “Your obsession with my mouth is becoming rather unhealthy,” he told her. Hermione’s eyes trailed down to his mouth, which had been perfect, along with the rest of his features. However, with the two buckteeth sticking out of his mouth, she found that it was anything _but_ attractive.

“Remove it, Granger.” Tom scowled at her. His voice sounded rather muffled behind his teeth. “If you do not do so, I will force you to do so.”

She looked at him. He was obviously trying to be menacing, but every time her eyes strayed from his dark, furious eyes to his teeth, she couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you going to stab me with your teeth?” she suggested.

They exchanged a couple more spells, though Hermione was too busy laughing to take the duel seriously anymore. Without knowing it, Tom had lifted the anger off of her, and she was filled with nothing but good spirits. Of course, judging by the dark look Tom was giving her, he did not appreciate her gift to him as much as she did.

“I thought,” Tom said icily, “that you were being considerate.”

“I am,” Hermione replied cheerfully. “I must say those teeth look quite good on you.” She smiled, knowing fairly well that she was in trouble as soon as the teeth were back to normal. However, she was already in trouble, so she figured she couldn’t make it much worse.

Tom lunged at her and she quickly dove out of the way. He sent the Imperius Curse at her, no doubt to get her to remove it while she was under his command. She quickly dove to avoid it and sent a string of fire, which he easily extinguished with a jet of water.

They battled on. Hermione, who had become more used to using her wand, gained more confidence as the duel progressed. She learned to anticipate spells better, learned which spells to dodge and which spells to produce a shield against, and managed to almost hit Tom a couple of times. Of course, his teeth were hindering him quite a bit, but she took a bit of pride knowing that her spells had almost scraped him.

“Ronald and Tom, how nice to see you.”

Hermione froze in her tracks. It was Dumbledore, the official who had been missing at the meeting, though it was obvious from the look on his face that he knew exactly what had happened. Dumbledore turned his eyes toward Tom, who was glaring at him. He had never liked Dumbledore, but she could tell he was mortified that the man had found him with his two front teeth enlarged.

Dumbledore waved his hand gently, and the teeth shrunk back to their normal size. However, Tom didn’t seem the least bit thankful and just resolved to glare at the wall. Dumbledore chuckled slightly, before turning back to Hermione.

Before he could say anything, though, Hermione spoke up. “I am very sorry, sir,” she apologized. “I don’t usually duel in the hallway. I don’t know what came over me. I promise that I won’t do it again.” She glanced over at Tom. “Sorry. _We_. But this is not Tom’s fault. I dragged him out here. Please don’t punish him.”

Tom looked surprised that she was defending him, though Dumbledore only smiled. “I’m afraid you have mistaken my intentions, Ronald. I have come here to applaud your wand work. It is truly phenomenal.”

Hermione blinked. She had not been expecting a compliment, of all things. “Thank you, sir,” she said. Hermione noticed that Dumbledore hadn’t praised Tom, who was obviously better at dueling than she was. Her partner didn’t look too pleased about it either.

“I have heard about your predicament in the office,” Dumbledore said gently, and Hermione’s heart fell. She had forgotten about it, but it all flooded back into her. However, she seemed to have expended all her anger and now all that was left was regret and guilt. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Tom looking at her, but she ignored him.

“Yes, sir.” Hermione cast her eyes downward. Was he here to tell her that it was time for her to leave? She couldn’t read the man’s face. He wore a smile but so did Umbridge and Karkaroff, and they meant nothing but bad news.

“However,” Dumbledore said, “I believe that you have proved yourself enough to continue in this competition. There are not many people who can hold a duel with Tom for that long. I will go talk to the other officials to remove your disqualification.”

Hermione couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Dumbledore was on her side! Dumbledore believed that she deserved a chance to stay. “I—I can’t thank you enough, sir. Thank you so much.”

“It is my pleasure,” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. The two of them just stared at each other, smiling their ridiculous smiles. Tom, who looked irritated at being left out of the conversation, cleared his throat noisily.

“Oh right! And please tell them to revoke Tom’s disqualification as well,” Hermione said. Dumbledore looked like he wanted to say something, but instead merely nodded and headed down the hall toward the officials’ office. She didn’t know what kind of problem had occurred between the two of them, but it didn’t take a genius to recognize that they hated each other beyond words.

There was a silence, where Hermione quietly brushed herself off, trying not to scream with joy. She wasn’t going home! She was going to stay, and she was going to compete in the last task of the competition. She had thought it all to be over, but it looked like things were going to be okay.

Then, Tom said, his voice eerily quiet, “Since when was I disqualified?”

-

The officials held a feast on the day before the last task, trying to relieve them of the pressure, no doubt. Everybody resisted at first, but eventually, the sight of food won them over and they all relented.

It was the first time that Hermione Granger had ever tried firewhiskey. It was also the very first time she had ever got drunk. An hour after the feast had begun, she found herself drooling all over Tom’s plate as she struggled to keep her head up. Her vision was fuzzy, and she giggled when Tom’s head split into two.

“I think that’s enough for you,” Tom said dryly as he plucked the bottle out of her hand. Hermione made a sobbing noise and made to get it back, but Tom tossed it away out of her grasp.

“This is all your fault. You were the person who forced three shots of firewhiskey into my mouth,” Hermione hiccupped. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get me drunk.”

Tom was silent, though his lips curled up.

Hermione’s eyes wandered around the room until they found the person of her nightmares. “Why is he here?” she asked, glaring at him. The man in question, Richard Skeeter, seemed to be able to sense someone watching him as he turned around. Hermione groaned and hid behind Tom, who looked more amused than anything. “Hide me!” she hissed at him. “Can he still see me?” Of course he could. Tom was lean, barely able to conceal anything but a twig behind him. “Why aren’t you fatter?”

Tom snorted. “That’s enough for you. It’s past your bedtime.” Before Hermione could protest, Tom picked her up easily and started to carry her back to their room.

“Hurry, he’s coming,” Hermione urged, though her head lolled back uselessly and it only served to further slow him down. “Run, Tom, run.” She suddenly felt happy, and giggles erupted from her mouth. “Run Forrest run!” She patted his head. “Your name is now Sir Gump. Okay?” When she received no response, she cupped her mouth with her hands. “ _OKAY_?!”

“I am very tempted to curse you, Granger.”

“You won’t curse me,” Hermione reassured him, patting his cheek fondly. “You love me too much to do such a thing. You love me _so_ much, don’t you? You love me very, very much.”

His lips quirked up. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

They finally reached the room, much to Tom’s relief. He quickly unlocked the door and entered, dumping Hermione onto the bed. He sighed and turned on the light, watching as Hermione scrambled off the bed to retrieve her suitcase.

“I take my Polyjuice Potion in two minutes,” she said, yawning. “Or else you’ll have to see me. You don’t want to see me. I am very scary. Rawr. I’m a dinosaur.” She reached into her luggage, but her hand suddenly froze. She stopped mid-yawn, her eyes open wide.

She quickly dropped to her knees and pulled everything out of her suitcase. “Where did it go?” she said, feeling panic wash over her. The compartment where she kept her vials was empty. “Tom,” she said, feeling slightly desperate. “Tom, have you seen them?”

He blinked innocently at her. “Who? Me? Of course not.”

“Tom, give them back.”

“I don’t think so.” He sat down leisurely on the bed, watching in amusement as she struggled very hard not to curse him. It would not end well. She was drunk, so her aim most likely would have been extremely off. She would end up hitting Skeeter downstairs first before her spell every touched Tom. However, cursing Skeeter didn’t seem as such a terrible idea either.

“ _Tooom_ ,” she whined, slobbering over him. Tom looked at her in disgust as she rubbed her hand across his face. “Give them to me. My poor babies.” She crooned, looking very sad. “My babies have been kidnapped.”

“I should have got you drunk earlier.” Tom chuckled. He glanced back toward her, his lips curling up. “Your two minutes are up, Hermione Granger.”

Indeed, they were. She felt her features starting to adjust accordingly. It had been so long since she had been in her own body. She had made sure that she took her potion earlier every time so she wouldn’t have to transform back into Hermione Granger. She felt her hair fall, scraping against her neck in a way that Ron’s never did.

The transformation was quicker than she thought it would be. She glanced down at her hands and saw that they were smaller, but still very much callused from scrubbing the floors. She scowled at her hands, as if they offended her. 

“Hello, Hermione Granger,” Tom said, looking much too amused by the whole thing. “We meet again. Under much more pleasurable circumstances, I must say.”

“You’re a big meanie,” Hermione said, ignoring Tom. “You stole my precious babies. You are a meanie poo. I don’t like you.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and turned away from him.

She instantly found her back pressed against the mattress with Tom looming over her. She scowled at him and tried to push him off of her, but he didn’t budge. “I take it back,” she said. “You are very fat and heavy. As heavy as…an elephant. A big, fat elephant. The fattest elephant of all. You are heavier than the fattest of the fattest of the fattest of—“

“That’s enough, Granger.”

“Don’t you want to hear about it?” Hermione asked him. “I’m sure you do. You want to hear about just how fat you are.” She held up her arms and did a rough estimation. “You are _this_ fat,” she said, pulling her hands far enough to leave a huge gap in between. “Yes. You are very fat.”

Tom scowled at her, and Hermione thought that he was going to curse her. However, he ended up kissing her, probably more to shut her up than anything. It was rough, and he thrust his tongue into her mouth. It took her by so much surprise that she almost bit down, though she supposed he wouldn’t appreciate that too much.

It continued for a couple of minutes, and Tom did not show any signs of stopping. Hermione, who had never been kissed before, was very inexperienced in the technique. After a while, she felt the shortage of air when she couldn’t seem to get enough into her lungs. She was reminded of the second task, when she had been stuck under water and she hadn’t been able to breathe. Tom suddenly resembled the merpeople, their green hair swirling around them as they laughed at her as she struggled to get to the surface to breathe.

She flailed around, trying to get the weight off of her so she could breathe again. Her arm connected with something solid, and the thing let out a sharp curse. Instantly, the pressure on her disappeared and she found that she could breathe easily again. She greedily gulped down as much air as she could.

Tom was glaring at her, rubbing his cheek. Feeling rather foolish for lashing out at him—it wasn’t his fault, after all—she said the first thing that popped into her head. “Did you know that elephants can weigh up to eight tons?” she asked. “They’re very, very big.”

“You and your elephants,” Tom muttered darkly, moving away from on top of her to sit on the edge of the bed. “Go to sleep. You are rather disturbing when you are drunk. I believe I much prefer it when you are sober.”

“Don’t want to sleep.”

“You don’t have a choice, Granger.” His eyes glinted as he turned off the light. “You will go to sleep or I will make you sleep.”

“I wanna play with you.”

Tom snickered softly. She could no longer see him in the dark, but she could feel his presence next to her. “I’m afraid you won’t be getting any sleep if we play.”

“I want my teddy bear then.” Hermione pouted. “Mommy always gets me a teddy bear to fight against any monsters. There are creepy monsters, you know. They hide in the closets and come out to eat me when Mommy leaves. I’ve been eaten multiple times.” She nodded. “Eaten, I have.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “No one will touch you,” he said, his voice sounding oddly possessive. However, Hermione merely smiled and reached over to where she could see his outline, curling up against his side.

“Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?” She yawned, absentmindedly noting that his fingers were running through her hair.

“I am not a babysitter,” Tom said, though he didn’t move from his spot. Hermione yawned again and felt her eyes drifting shut.

“Good night, Mister Elephant.”

“I thought I was Sir Gump.”

“Right.” Hermione mumbled sleepily. “You can be both of them. Mister Elephant Gump Sir.” She wanted to say something else, but the feeling of his fingers soothingly running through her hair and the temptation of sleep proved too much for her. Her eyes closed, and instantly, darkness enveloped her.

-

She woke up with her head pounding so loudly that she thought that the whole world could hear.

“Rise and shine, Granger.” Tom was annoyingly chirpy, smirking as she struggled to sit up. She groaned and put her hand to her head, as if that could help with the pain.

“Don’t you start with me, Tom. I’m not in the mood,” she said darkly. “I didn’t think you would stoop so low as to get me drunk.” She glared at him before shifting through her trunk, finding all the vials of Polyjuice Potion that had mysteriously reappeared. “Lucky me. I didn’t bring Hangover Potion.”

“Tsk tsk, coming unprepared? How very unlike you.” Tom drawled. “You better make yourself presentable, Hermione, because the last task is in three hours. Of course,” he smirked, “I could make you drunk again if you would like. I’m sure that it’ll…appall the obstacles enough for me to kill them.”

Hermione groaned, his voice doing nothing to help the pain in her head. “Disregard everything I said yesterday.” She groaned again. “My family has been known to have a very low alcohol tolerance.” She glared at him as he smirked at her. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ll stuff three shots of firewhiskey down your throat. See how you like that.”

“There’s no need to get angry.” Tom looked way too amused for his own good. “You were very entertaining.”

“Right.” Hermione decided to ignore her head pain momentarily and stood up, almost falling back down. She, however, managed to catch herself and regain her balance with the little amount of dignity she had left. “Did anyone come to talk to you about the third task?”

“Yes, McGonagall came not too long ago.” Tom started pacing around the room, something Hermione found that he liked to do often. “It’s a maze. There is a trophy at the very heart of it, and the first person—not partnership—to touch it is declared the victor.” He glanced at her. “It would be advantageous if we split up.”

Hermione stared at him. “You want us to _split up_?” she asked, her eyes wide open. She wasn’t sure if she had heard him correctly.

“Yes. Or do I need be to be right next to you and lead you step by step?” Tom raised an eyebrow.

Hermione shook her head. “No, but you want us to split up. Don’t you see how historical this moment is? You do realize that if one partner dies, the other one is immediately disqualified, right?” She suddenly let out a huge whoop, ignoring the pain in her head as it intensified. “Tom Riddle trusts me enough to let me go on my own.” She grinned at him. “Do you remember the first task when you told me to hide behind a rock? Good old days.”

“Do not make me regret my decision, Granger.” There was no malice, however, in his voice. Rather, there was a smirk on his face as he regarded her with amusement.

She suddenly felt very emotional. She took a step closer to him. “To repay you for yesterday,” she said. Tom raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything. “When I smacked you across the face.”

She leaned closer to him and kissed him, and he seemed to be expecting it. He spun her around and pressed her against the wall. The kiss started off gently, but nothing was ever gentle with him. The kiss grew vigorous, faster and more passionate, but Hermione was more than willing to keep up.

She moaned softly, and moments later she felt his tongue slip into her mouth. Her own tongue skirted out to meet his, and they battled for dominance, much like the battle that she and Tom had been fighting since the first day. Both of them were unwilling to give up, so their tongues twirled together in an elegant dance, neither one backing down. It was a symbol of equality, Hermione realized, but it seemed like Tom was too busy focusing on other things to mind that.

She wound her arms around his neck to pull him closer, and in response, he bit down on her lip. Hermione wrinkled her nose when the taste of blood flooded her mouth, but Tom didn’t give her time to dwell on it. He increased the intensity of the kiss, thrusting his tongue vigorously into her mouth. She sighed pleasurably, enjoying the feeling of their tongues rubbing against each other.

There was a sharp rap on the door.

“Mister Weasley and Mister Riddle.” It was McGonagall. Hermione quickly covered her face, but then realized that he hadn’t bothered to come inside the room. “You have twenty minutes to make yourself presentable. There are many preparations that have to be made before the third task, so we request that the contestants arrive early.” Without waiting for them to respond, he turned around and left.

Tom sighed. “I suppose we’ll have to get ready.” He looked at her and smirked. “I never realized how short you were.” He gestured toward her feet. She had elevated herself by standing on her toes so that she and Tom could be of the same height.

“Ron’s taller,” Hermione said absentmindedly, walking back to her luggage where the vials of Polyjuice were. She unscrewed one of the corks and wrinkled her nose; she hated the potion’s disgusting smell.

“I would never touch Weasley.” Tom scowled darkly, watching as Hermione’s hair grew shorter once again and turned orange. Her legs grew longer, her hands bigger, and her mouth wider. After the transformation was complete, she stretched, noting that it did not feel particularly weird anymore. Perhaps she was growing used to Ron’s body.

“Yeah, well who knew you would snog the girl from the bookstore? People change, Tom.” She placed her wand inside her pocket, quickly checking herself in the mirror to make sure that everything was in order. Ron’s face stared back at her, his red hair and blue eyes all present. She was ready.

“ _I_ don’t change,” Tom said smugly, as if that was somehow an accomplishment to be proud of.

“Perhaps you already have,” Hermione said. She grinned mockingly at him. “After all, you love me now, don’t you?” She giggled as a look of pure horror crossed his face. “You couldn’t have loved me before in the bookstore, so therefore you’ve changed.”

“You and your delusional ideas,” Tom muttered darkly.

“Since there will undoubtedly be stories about us, we might as well have fun with it,” she quoted him.

“One more word, Granger, and I may have to hurt you.”

“Promises, promises.”

-

The maze was huge.

Hermione vaguely remembered the horn sounding, and the sound of the crowd cheering as the door to the maze opened and the six contestants rushed inside. She absentmindedly noticed Tom pushing her to the left as he went toward the right. However, it was all a blur in Hermione’s mind. After Tom had taken off in the separate direction, she had stumbled around aimlessly.

After five minutes of walking around trying to find the fastest way to get to the middle, she passed by Pollux. He was by himself without his brother. He stopped her from just walking past him like she wanted to do.

“Don’t talk to me,” she sniped. “You’re a coward, you know that, right?” She had been afraid that he would attack her, but instead he just bowed his head. “You left me alone with your brother last time.” 

“I love my brother more than anything,” Pollux told her truthfully. “However, it doesn’t mean that I always agree with what he’s doing. You are a stranger to me, Ronald Weasley. I will not put you ahead of my brother. That is foolish.”

“I understand,” Hermione said, even though she truly didn’t. But then again, she had always been the type of person who liked to jump in and save everyone. She didn’t care who it was. If there was someone in danger, she would help them. Much like she had helped Phineas get out of the lake during the second task. Which, as she recalled, he hadn’t been grateful for at all.

“That being said,” Pollux continued. “I cannot deny that my brother has changed greatly from what I knew him to be. I am awfully sorry he was not grateful that you rescued him even though it would have been to your advantage to leave him at the bottom of the lake.” Hermione nodded. “He has changed, and not for the better, I must say. Ever since he has found out about the Triwizard tournament and set his mind to it, he has not been the same. He wants to win it very desperately.” Pollux looked her in the eye. “That is why I am pleading that you do everything possible to win this tournament.”

“Me?” Hermione blinked, a bit perplexed. “You want me to crush his dreams?”

“Yes,” Pollux said softly. “Sometimes dreams can be too poisonous. I entered this tournament to keep my brother alive, and you can tell that I’m doing a terrible job at that. I do not have his stubborn pride, though, and I know when to ask for help. So that is exactly what I’m doing now.”

“You didn’t need to ask,” Hermione said, feeling quite like Tom. “I was planning on winning anyway.”

“Good.” He shot her a small smile, the first one she had seen from him. “Then you should know that when you come across an intersection, take the blue road. Everything else just takes you to more obstacles and leads you back to where you started. The blue path saves you a lot of time.”

“And how do you know this?” Hermione asked, looking at him suspiciously. Was he admitting to cheating? That some of the officials were telling him how to pass the task before it even started?

“Myrtle, of course.”

“ _Myrtle_?” Hermione repeated, the image of the ghost girl from the lake floating into her mind. “What does Myrtle have to do with this?”

“Each partnership gets a clue from Myrtle for one of the stages,” Pollux explained. “Dumbledore came up with it, I’m sure. Those who are not tolerant enough toward women do not get to hear the clue. My brother didn’t hesitate to toss a textbook through her head. I, however, sought her out afterwards and calmed her down enough to tell me.”

“That’s not particularly fair, is it?” Hermione frowned. “After all, the first task was definitely not as difficult as this one, and this one is the most important.”

Pollux merely shrugged. “Life is never fair, Ronald Weasley.” It unnerved Hermione how he always called her by her full name, but she didn’t think now was the place or time to correct him. “I have told my brother to go down the green path, so you will not see him.” He nodded politely. “I’m rooting for you.”

“Why me?” Hermione asked. “If you want to prevent Phineas from winning, there are three other people you can talk to. Why did you come and ask me?”

Pollux smiled mysteriously. “It’s about time a girl won,” he said softly. Hermione gaped at him, but before she could say anything, he disappeared around the corner.

_He knows. Pollux knows._

First Tom, then Phineas, then the officials, and then Pollux. Was there anyone in the tournament left who did not know about her true gender? She had felt like she was doing a great job at concealing it, though she realized that she had just been deluding herself the whole time.

Was he the one that sent in the vials of Polyjuice Potion? It could have been either him, or his brother. It might have been Tom, or even Charlie. But she supposed, now, it didn’t matter. She had been allowed to continue in the competition and that was all that mattered. It would do her no good if she kept clinging to the past.

“Why are you still here?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow and turned to face her partner, who was standing a couple of feet from her. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I have been running.” Tom sighed. “You have been standing here the whole time. This is what happens when I take my eyes off of you. You cannot do anything if I am not there to instruct you.”

“Running?” Hermione snorted, ignoring his second statement. “As if you could run. Knowing you, you were pleasantly strolling through the maze, enjoying the lovely weather this afternoon.”

Tom ignored her and grabbed her arm, dragging her after him. “Come along. They’re not going to give you special treatment just because you are a girl.”

“On the contrary, it is the complete opposite,” Hermione muttered as she allowed herself to get dragged away. “So, what’s your plan, Captain? Going to knock down any walls? Kill any monsters?”

“The only monster I have had the misfortune of running into so far is you.”

“Ouch.” Hermione made a face and then made a motion to stop him. “Wait. Here it is.” She had not understood it very clearly when Pollux had explained it to her, but she could now clearly see two different paths. One was slightly tinted blue while the other was green.

Hermione stepped onto the blue one, gesturing to Tom to follow her. “Over here,” she said.

Tom, however, looked at her and glanced back toward his wand. He had performed the four-point spell, and his wand clearly indicated toward the green path. “I believe the middle is through here,” he said smoothly.

“No.” Hermione shook her head. “Pollux told me that it’s always the blue path. Never follow any of the other colors, because in there are tricks and gimmicks that you don’t want to face.”

“Pollux Black?” Tom narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “And what business do you have talking to _him_?”

“He was just thanking me for looking after his brother. No need to get jealous.” Hermione rolled her eyes when Tom scowled at her. “He was just grateful that I rescued his brother from the lake. That’s all.”

“You’ll realize, Granger, that we men are incapable of being grateful.”

“Just because _you_ are doesn’t mean the rest of the population is,” Hermione sighed as he glowered at her. “Fine. If you wish, you can go that way and I will go this way, and we’ll see who gets there first.”

“Very well.” Tom’s lips quirked up. “I’m afraid this is one challenge that you will not win.” With an infuriating smirk, he disappeared around the green walls.

Hermione sighed and turned around, keeping her wand ahead of her as she walked. There had been no obstacles yet, so at least half of what Pollux had promised was true. There was an occasional small animal where a stunner sufficed, but she had not yet seen something really terrifying.

And then she ran into a boggart.

It took the shape of Rookwood, as she expected it to. He was carrying a whip and he was screaming insults at her, calling her every name in his arsenal. Every time he brought his whip down, Hermione jumped back several feet before reminding herself that it wasn’t real.

 _You are better than him_ , Hermione reminded herself. _You have entered the Triwizard tournament and you have made it so far. Rookwood should no longer be a fear for you._

 _“Riddikulus!”_ Hermione cried, and instantly the boggart changed in to Tom in a sundress. Had she not immediately covered her eyes and ran past the boggart, she would have stood in the same place and laughed at it until the tournament had ended.

Hermione though back to Rookwood, feeling further motivated. She had to get through this. She was so close. If she won this, she could help the others get out of the manor. Freedom was in her reach.

With a new determination burning in her, she trudged forwards.

There was a Dementor next. Hermione was surprised to see it in the maze. It was fairly dangerous, and if one could not perform the Patronus charm and received the dementor’s kiss, it would be quite unfortunate indeed. However, Hermione was not afraid when the dementor turned its ugly head toward her. She had plenty of happy memories. And, to her surprise, she had many from the tournament as well. She had not expected herself to be happy, but she supposed she had a certain infuriating partner to thank for that.

“ _Expecto Patronum!”_

A bright light, molding in to the shape of an otter, flew out of her wand and hit the dementor, pushing it away. She quickly sprinted down the maze, wand at the ready in case any other obstacles decided to appear out of nowhere. She could almost feel that she was near the end. She would be seeing the Triwizard Cup any moment now…

She turned a corner and skidded to a stop. In front of her was the biggest, most ferocious dragon she had ever seen. It was even scarier than the one she had seen during the first task. Peter Pettigrew, Abraxas Malfoy’s partner, was trembling underneath the dragon. She wanted to turn around the corner and leave—after all, there had to be other paths to the cup—but her stupid hero instincts kicked in again and she jumped in to battle.

“ _Stupefy!_ ” Hermione yelled out, momentarily gaining the dragon’s attention. She turned toward Peter, who had now stood up shakily. “I’ll get his attention, and you run to his other side. Then, you get his attention from that side, and I’ll run past him while he’s distracted.”

Peter nodded quickly, symbolizing that he had understood her plan. Hermione raised her wand again and yelled, “ _Stupefy!_ ”

She now had the dragon’s full attention, though she wasn’t sure whether or not that was good or bad. She motioned Peter along, and the man scuttled away quickly. She had not expected him to have been able to run so fast. He got to the other side of the dragon easily without attracting its attention. Hermione called out to him as she ducked the dragon’s breath of fire. “Now distract it so I can go.”

Peter looked between her, and then to the dragon. Before she could say anything else, he shook his head and scuttled away around the corner, leaving her to face the massive dragon by herself.

 _Coward!_ She wanted to scream. But at the same time, she mentally slapped herself. She had lost track of the amount of times she had let someone else go in front of her, only to have them take advantage and step all over her. She really had to stop doing it. She had almost failed the second task because of that, and now she was left to face a grown dragon by herself.

The dragon roared.

 _Think, Hermione, think!_ Hermione looked around for anything that could possibly help her. She noticed that the dragon was being held inside the maze because of the chains that were attached to its wrists. Not knowing what the result would be, Hermione decided to go for the chains rather than for the dragon itself, because she could not deal with the dragon by herself.

The dragon snorted out another breath of fire, and Hermione scrambled to avoid it, only to have her wand dropped several feet away from her. She dove for it, noticing the dragon’s eyes zeroing in on the piece of wood, and rolled out of the way seconds before its tail came smashing down on the place where both she and the wand had just been.

Taking advantage of the dragon’s momentary lapse, she pointed her wand at the chain and yelled, “ _Reducto!_ ” She repeated the same spell for its other wrist, and then the chains broke. The dragon had been freed. And the beast itself seemed to know it.

The dragon roared, its attention no longer on Hermione. With what sounded like a triumphant yell, it started to flap its wings and started flying. Motivated by pure stupidity or something else, Hermione did not know, she reached over and grabbed the dragon’s tail as tightly as she could. When the dragon rose up and started flying, Hermione latched herself onto its tail as she was thrown around, trying hard not to let go.

She hated flying. She truly did, and this was the second time of the competition that she had to do so. Not to mention, she had a much more pleasant time riding on a broom. At least then she did not constantly have to worry about getting flung off the broom. The dragon, it seemed, enjoyed flinging its tail back and forth while it flew, something that did not help her at all.

That was when she heard a voice.

“Let go!”

It sounded like Tom’s voice, though he must have amplified it. She was pretty high up by now, still being tossed around like a bag of potatoes, so his normal voice would not have been able to reach her. She tried to look down to see if it was him, but only managed to smash her head against the dragon’s scaly tail multiple times.

“Weasley, if you don’t let go, I will curse you myself.”

It definitely sounded like him now. It felt weird that he did not call her by her real name, but she supposed that with him amplifying his voice, it would not be a wise idea to be screaming out her name for all to hear.

It was a rather long way down, but she trusted him—something that surprised her immensely. He was still the insufferable bastard who could be cruel and indifferent at a moment’s notice, and he was extremely annoying at times, but she still trusted him. Not to mention, she didn’t think she could hold on for much longer. One more whip of the tail and she would go sailing into the sky and land on her face someplace unknown.

Hermione let go.

She had never been a very vocal person. Sure, she loved to voice her opinion and debate, but when it came to pain and fear, she never screamed. She didn’t cry or scream when Rookwood whipped her to near death.

However, when she fell from the dragon, she screamed her heart out.

One moment, she registered that she was falling. The next, she hit something solid as she landed on the ground. A string of nasty curses filled her ear as Hermione struggled to sit up, feeling pain everywhere.

“Tom?” Hermione blinked down at the figure underneath her. He scowled at her, and she quickly got off of him. “Did you catch me?”

“No,” he said shortly. “Your aim is rather unfortunate. You fell on top of me.”

Hermione blinked, not believing what he said but feeling too grateful to complain. She glanced over to her left and gasped. The Triwizard Cup, the reward for all her efforts through the tournament, was sitting on a little stand next to her. “You found it,” she breathed out.

“Of course.” Tom dusted himself off as he stood up. “I believe I won our challenge, seeing how I was about to claim the prize when you dropped out of the sky screaming like a banshee. Very attractive,” he commented dryly, and Hermione flushed.

“But you could have gotten it,” Hermione pointed out. “If you had got it, the tournament would be over. You didn’t need to worry about me. I could be flung who knows where, but since the tournament ended, what your partner does has no effect on you.” Hermione looked at him. “Why did you tell me to let go? Merlin knows I hadn’t planned to until you told me to.”

“Does it matter?” Tom asked softly.

“It does.”

“You need a reason for everything, don’t you?”

“Well, everything happens for a reason. So, yes.” She looked at him expectantly.

Tom sighed. “I suppose I would be rather disconcerted if you happened to die.” Hermione’s eyes lit up. “Cherish that, because I will never say it again.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hermione chirped, suddenly very cheerful. “I _will_ cherish that.”

Tom scowled darkly.

Hermione grinned at him, but dropped the topic. Instead, she wandered over to the opposite end of the cup and looked at him. “Let’s take it together,” she said. “Therefore as partners and as equals.”

“Very well,” Tom quipped. “We are equal, except I am better.”

“All animals are created equal.” Hermione said softly. “But some are more equal than others.”

Tom shot her a quizzical look.

Hermione waved him off. “On the count of three,” she said, and Tom nodded to acknowledge that he understood her instructions. “ _One…two…_ ”

She thought of how much had happened. It seemed like only yesterday she was trapped in the Rookwood manor, hating all men for their superior attitude toward women. But she had ventured outside and found companionship in places she had least expected. The Weasleys had helped her get in to the tournament. Charlie Weasley had offered her information to get her through the second round. Pollux Black had helped her finish. And Tom, her partner, had been with her from the very beginning. And now she would finish the tournament and be declared victor alongside of him.

She decided her life wasn’t that bad after all.

“ _Three._ ”

-

As you have probably heard, I recently won the Triwizard tournament along with my partner, Tom Riddle. However, I would like to begin by saying that neither him nor Ron Weasley, the person whom I was impersonating, have anything to do with my actions and should not be held responsible for what I have done and what I will do. The statements that I am about to make are from my mouth and my mouth only.

Before we start, I would like to say that it has been brought to my attention that the general population might feel as if I’m mocking everyone. To make things clear, I would like to say that that has not, and will _never_ be my intention. I entered the tournament for the sole purpose of promoting women’s rights. This article is not designed to laugh at anyone, but rather to give society a different point of view, through the eyes of someone you deem ‘inferior.’ I would like to think that by winning and publishing this article, hereby accomplishing my goal, I have played my part in the movement. Though, I suppose, that final judgment is not for me to give.

I was sent away at the age of eleven to become a slave, and even that was lucky for me. Many girls are taken away at birth. They will never know their families, never understand how to love and be loved, and never know anything outside of slavery. Think about it. You make women into slaves, deeming them as inferior, but in all honesty, life cannot function without women. They perform the vital roles of giving birth and taking care of children. Without them, the world would only live to see one generation.

In addition, women can do just the same things that men can, as I have proved by winning the tournament. Sure, Tom was my partner and he undoubtedly carried all the weight, right? Wrong. If you look at any of the videos of the tournament, you’ll see that I fared well by myself (though it pains Tom to admit it, it is true.) I did not need him to constantly support me and give me orders. Just because I am female doesn’t mean that I do not have a brain. I am going to assume that you have a brain as well, though you correct me if I am jumping to conclusions. What makes mine different from yours?

I ask myself the question every day. Why are women looked down upon? They are certainly not inferior, no matter what everyone thinks. I entered this tournament not for the glory, but to prove that a woman could easily keep up with a group of men. It is not a matter of gender, I think, but rather of talent, determination and goodwill. And that, I believe, is something the world needs to learn.

I am writing this now outside the courtroom, waiting to get called inside for my fate to be decided. I feel the need to clarify this one point: no one revealed the fact that I was a female to the public. _I_ chose to do so because I am not ashamed of being a woman. _No_ female should be ashamed of her gender. And no one, no matter how rich or strong or powerful they are, should make someone else feel inferior.

I might receive a death sentence on multiple charges—mockery, violating the tournament rules, the list goes on and on—but I have completed my mission. You might be able to get rid of me quickly, but you’ll never be able to erase the fact that a woman was part of a Triwizard Tournament victory. And what happens to the next woman who takes my place? And the next? We might just be an “army of ants,” as you all like to call us, but we certainly aren’t brainless. We will keep fighting for our freedom. There will be a point in time where you will need us and regret not noticing us earlier. The idea might sound absurd now, but mark my words, it will happen one day.

I will leave my fate in your capable hands. No matter what you decide, it won’t matter. I feel very fortunate to have got a chance to participate in the tournament and show the world that I, nor any other female, am certainly not weak.

That is all.

PS. For the thousands of gossip magazines that I’m sure are waiting right outside the door, I will answer the question that I’m sure you’re all dying to ask. Yes, Tom Riddle and I are involved. No, he does not mind that I’m a girl. Honestly, I don’t think it would’ve mattered to him if I was the Whomping Willow.

Sincerely,

Hermione Jean Granger. Victor of the 126th Triwizard Tournament.

 


	5. Epilogue

“Happy birthday, Tommy!”

Tom cast her a disgusted look, but it immediately melted away when he got a good look at her. “I didn’t know you were capable of wearing dresses,” he said smoothly, reaching around her waist and pulling her closer to him.

“I like robes more, but I felt that since it was your special day, I ought to wear something special.” She grinned as she twirled around. “Do you like it? Ginny and Hannah helped me pick it out.” Her eyes wandered over to her friends, who were huddled in a corner. She could see little Lavender waving at her, while Ginny just winked. Hermione stuck her tongue out at her before turning her attention back to Tom.

“Do I get a present?” His breath fanned against her cheek, and she smiled up at him, winding her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. “Perhaps, a birthday kiss? I was very good tonight. I deserve a reward.”

However, before their lips could meet, someone barreled over noisily. “Hello, you little piece of shit.” The person knocked her out of Tom’s arms and onto the floor. Hermione glared up at the culprit and found Bella standing there. Hermione had been the one to invite her, though she hadn’t been sure if the girl would show up.

“Hello to you too, Bella,” Hermione said smoothly. To her surprise, Bella reached down and lent her a hand, pulling her up. Hermione glanced at her and found that the maniacal look that was usually present was missing from Bella’s face. Perhaps she had changed as well.

There were no apologies said between the two girls. Bella did not apologize for her behavior towards Hermione for all those years and Hermione did not apologize for knocking her out. But both understood that it was in the past and that some things were meant to be forgotten.

“It’s rather big, isn’t it?” Bella said, looking around. “I always knew that Rooky had an obsession with big parties, but this is huge.” She looked fairly excited. Her new freedom seemed to have treated her well.

“It’s actually not Rookwood’s party,” Hermione said. “It’s Tom’s birthday. You know Tom, right?” She gestured towards her partner, who was regarding Bella with a smirk on his face. “He was my partner in the Triwizard Tournament. We’re co-victors.”

“Not exactly,” Tom corrected. “Co-victors would symbolize that we are equals, and that we played an equal part in the victory.” His lips curled up. “That is not exactly true, is it?”

Hermione smacked his arm.

“That’s right. You were in the Triwizard Tournament. Congratulations on your win,” said Bella. “I thought that—holy _shit_ you’re hot,” Bella breathed out as her eyes focused on Tom for the first time. Tom smirked and nudged Hermione with his foot, and she rolled her eyes.

“Don’t encourage him,” she said. “His ego is huge enough already.” She patted his arm fondly. “Though I must say, the buckteeth was a rather attractive look on you. It’s a shame you didn’t decide to keep them that way.”

“You weren’t so happy when I learned the incantation and used it on you.”

Hermione scowled at him. Unfortunately, he had searched up the spell and had used it on her, and as much as she didn’t want to admit, there was truly very little difference. She took pride in her front teeth! She didn’t care that they were slightly bigger.

“Go get me a drink.” She shoved him away. He chuckled, but complied with her wishes. Bella looked as though she wanted to follow him and looked over at Hermione for permission. Hermione shooed her away; if Tom became interested in another girl so quickly, she would lose all respect she held for him. But she wasn’t particularly worried about him. Bella, however, looked as though Christmas had come early and trailed after him like a little puppy.

Hermione looked around the room. She could see Ron and Harry—who she had finally had the pleasure to meet—in one corner, talking with their heads bent together. Charlie Weasley kept loitering near Ginny, although the girl kept waving him away. The entire Weasley family was scattered around the room, testing out the exotic drinks and weird foods that the party offered. She had organized the party, but the beverages and foods were Tom’s responsibility. They could be poison, for all she knew. She wouldn’t put it past him.

Doing a quick scan of the room, she could see that out of the other four contestants, only Pollux had shown up. He had been the only one she had _expected_ to show up, although she had sent the invitations to the others as well. He smiled at her as she walked up to him.

“Thank you,” he said.

“No, thank _you_ ,” she responded. “You helped me a lot in the court trial. Had you not been there, it would have been much harder, if not impossible, to earn an acquittal.”

“Phineas was doing his best to get you a guilty verdict.” Pollux shrugged. “I felt it to be only fair if you received my help in return.” He paused. “My brother has an arsenal of tactics that are very hard to overcome unless you know just the right way to counter them.”

Hermione grinned. “Just know that I really appreciated it.” She truly did. She had expected to be alone at the trial. Imagine to her surprise when others, even Dumbledore and _McGonagall_ stood up and to defend her. She was generally not an emotional person, but the scene almost made her cry.

Pollux nodded, and looked around. “He really knows how to throw a party, doesn’t he?”

Hermione snorted. “Actually, this was all me.” She gestured around. “It was supposed to be a surprise party, though you can see how that turned out.” She scowled as Pollux gave her a look. “What was I supposed to do? I didn’t know he would come and use Legilimency on me.”

“Did you curse him?” He sounded amused.

“Of course I did! It’s an invasion of privacy!” she huffed. “However, I couldn’t remove the things that he had seen, so I had to deal with it. I originally thought that I would receive more help since he knew, but he has done nothing but distract me ever since he found out.” She sighed. “Sometimes, I wonder why I even bother with him.”

Pollux’s lips twitched upwards. “I’m sure he wonders the same about you.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped, but he laughed to show he was only kidding. She smacked him on the arm. “I suppose things are getting back to normal now,” she said. “Do you think that perhaps we can keep in touch? I would hate to cut it off completely.”

Pollux’s smile slid off. “Yes, but it will be quite awhile until I am able to communicate with you,” he said. “Phineas is not particularly pleased right now, and I have made it my priority to help him out first, no matter how long that will take. It’s dangerous for him to tread in the world alone, as his mind is still full of hate and anger. But after he is back to his usual self, it would be my honor.”

Hermione beamed at him. He was still the same, looking out and placing his brother in front of his own interests. “I have to say, you pull off the suit quite nicely.” Pollux blinked as he looked down. “I’ve got so used to seeing you with the robes that it looks strange to see you wear anything else.”

Pollux’s lips curled up. “I seem to remember a certain invitation demanding this attire.”

“I wanted to make it both muggle and wizard related.” Hermione shrugged, unabashed. “Tom wasn’t too pleased with that, but changing the invitation would involve work on his part, so he just let it be.” Tom himself was wearing his usual robes, but she supposed that since he was the birthday boy, he could do whatever he wanted.

“You pull off a dress fairly well too,” Pollux said, looking at her pink dress. She did a small curtsy and smiled at him. “I still believe robes suit you more, but I won’t deny that you look beautiful.”

Hermione was flattered. “Thank you.”

“I should go before Tom eats my face off.” Pollux winked at her. “This is my first party with ladies involved, so I think I shall go enjoy myself.” He waved at her as he headed off towards a group of giggling girls. “See you, Granger.”

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” Hermione called after him. She could tell that he was still troubled about his brother, but she hoped that at least for one night, he could enjoy himself and forget about everything that was waiting for him when he got home.

Hermione glanced around. She had talked to so many people since the party had started. She had stayed by Tom’s side for most of the night, of course, but occasionally she had wandered off. She had met Harry, and the boy was very pleasant to talk to. He had a strong sense of loyalty, and Hermione found herself liking him already.

Ron was still Ron, of course. It felt so weird to see him in front of her after she had Polyjuiced as him for so long. He was still in good spirits, shoving food down his throat while talking to her with his mouth wide open. She had left him and Harry to their bickering.

She had talked to Ginny, of course, and the other girls who she had worked with at the Rookwood manor. She did not have time after the trial acquittal to go back there, so this was the first time in awhile that she had seen them. They had all been delighted to see her and excited about the prospects of a new life. Hannah, ever the strange one, said she would miss the Rookwood manor and its glamour. However, even she couldn’t deny that she was exuberant about her new freedom.

Ginny, while reuniting with her family members, dragged Hermione along. Her parents were first, though Arthur Weasley seemed distracted by his suit. Ginny told her that he was interested in muggle objects, but Hermione didn’t think the suit to be particularly fascinating. Arthur Weasley, though, thought differently. After a couple of failed attempts at teaching him how to put on a tie, she left him in Molly Weasley’s hands.

Percy was next, and although he reminded Hermione a bit of Umbridge, she eventually warmed up to him. He was a little stiff and awkward, but that was hardly his fault. However, Ginny proved to have little tolerance for her brother because towards the end, she was practically trying to squirm out of his grasp. Percy let her go easily, and resumed his awkward pacing around the room.

Charlie nearly hugged Ginny to the point of suffocation. It was so weird to see him without his accompanying dragons. He had very nearly broken down and cried, though Ginny told him to be a man and swallow his tears. Hermione, personally, didn’t find it wrong for her brother to shed a few tears, but Ginny seemed to find it absolutely mortifying.

There had been many females who had come up to Hermione to introduce themselves. However, there were just as many women who kept their distance, glaring at Hermione as they stared dreamily at Tom. She, for the most part, ignored them. However, once in awhile, when Tom wasn’t looking, she turned around and gave them the ugliest look she could muster before walking away with her head held high.

She had seen Fred and George, and while she was amused by them and their pranks, Tom downright hated them. They dropped a dungbomb in his drink, and he very nearly whipped out his wand and avada’ed them where they stood.

Hermione was busy looking around, happy to see all the smiles on everyone’s faces. It brought her joy to see everyone together, laughing and smiling. All her friends were in this very room, enjoying this new chapter in history.

Hermione was thinking about a date to host another party when she accidentally backed into someone. She was about to turn around and apologize when the person gripped her wrist hard enough to bruise.

Hermione froze. She knew that touch. It had been so long since she had felt it, but she knew it all the same. _Get a grip, Hermione_ , she told herself. _You’re not afraid of him anymore. You’re free. You’re better than him now._ However, she could feel herself trembling slightly, and she knew he could feel it as well.

Schooling her features, she turned around and nodded politely, making sure not to show any fear on her face. “Hello, sir.” She had no idea what to call him. There was no way she was going to call him ‘master,’ but she felt weird calling him Augustus. Even though they were technically equals now, she sure didn’t feel like it.

“Hermione Granger,” Rookwood drawled, his eyes shamelessly roaming her body. “Who would have known that you could do all that you did? You were just a pathetic, sobbing, mewling quim.” His lips quirked up and Hermione glared angrily at him. “I want you to come back to me.”

Hermione blinked, unsure whether or not she had heard him correctly. “Excuse me?”

“You can’t deny that you miss the manor,” Rookwood said, raising an eyebrow. “You know you want to come home. I can feel it. You were trembling in excitement.” _More like fear_. Hermione snorted. “Come home with me, Hermione Granger.”

“That’s not my home.” Hermione gritted her teeth. “Have you not noticed the recent law that was passed that says that it is forbidden for a man to own a woman as a slave? I have no obligations to go back there, and I was not planning to either. Neither are any of the other girls.”

Rookwood scowled at her. “Yes, thanks to your idiocy, you have lost me all my slaves.” His eyes narrowed. “You will pay for that, Hermione Granger, and you will pay with _everything_ you have. I have come to collect, and I do not like to be kept waiting.”

“If you came to this party in hopes of getting me to return with you, then you will go home empty-handed.” Hermione crossed her arms. “I entered the tournament for the sole reason of getting me and everyone else out of that manor. I happened to achieve my goal. What makes you think that I would willingly go back?”

“You should not have been able to compete,” Rookwood growled. She knew he was also sour that she had been selected in the first place while he had been trying in vain for so many years. “They should have thrown you out and condemned you to death as soon as they found out you were nothing but a pitiless slave with idiotic dreams. It is all because of that Dumbledore; always the sympathizer.” Rookwood sneered, “If it were not for him, you would not even be here.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t, maybe I would,” Hermione said evenly. “It doesn’t achieve anything to dwell on the ‘what ifs.’ I found a lot of help in places I would have never expected to look. However, the important thing is that I am here now, and no matter what you say to me, I will not let any of us go back to that hellhole.”

Rookwood snarled and grabbed Hermione’s wrist roughly, pulling her towards the door. Her other hand drifted down to a secret wand holster she had strapped around her leg. However, before she could get it out and curse him, another hand clamped down hard on Rookwood’s wrist and forcefully dragged it away.

Hermione looked up. Tom was smiling at Rookwood, but there was nothing sincere about the gesture. There was darkness in his eyes as he looked at the older man. As soon as Rookwood stopped touching Hermione, Tom let go of his hand as though it burned. Hermione could see a tad bit of anger in his eyes as he wrapped an arm around Hermione’s waist possessively.

“Augustus,” Tom greeted politely, though his voice was as sharp as daggers. “How nice of you to join us.”

“Tom,” Rookwood forced out. “Happy birthday.” It was like watching two wolves circling each other, both of them predators and neither one willing to become the prey.

“Thank you.” Tom narrowed his eyes. “Now, Augustus, I’m sure you know, but I am a very selfish man.”

“At last, you have finally acknowledged it,” Hermione muttered.

“It is my birthday after all, so I think that I deserve to get whatever I want.” He smiled eerily at Rookwood. “Don’t you think so?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well then, I didn’t think it was necessary to tell you, but apparently you are too slow to figure it out.” Tom’s lips curled into a cruel smirk. “I do not like others touching my possessions.”

“I am not a possession!” Hermione interrupted.

Tom continued as though he hadn’t heard her. “That being said, should I find out that you bother her again, I might have to pay you a visit.” His eyes glinted. “You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

Rookwood glared at him, but even Hermione could see that he was very much serious. Finally, after what seemed like eons, Rookwood grudgingly nodded. 

“And any one of my friends either,” Hermione piped up. “Don’t even look at them.”

Rookwood looked at Tom, who merely sighed. “I admit that I do not care about what happens to them,” he said, and Hermione kicked him in the shins. “That being said, it would make Hermione most displeased if you hurt them, and that I cannot deal with. Though, I suppose it wouldn’t be me you would worry about. I heard that she can duel quite well.”

Rookwood looked like he wanted to whip out his wand and curse both of them—something Hermione knew would not end well for him—but he took a deep breath and nodded, though it did not escape Hermione’s notice that he was still glaring at them.

“Very well,” Tom said cheerfully, his voice so sweet that it was anything but sincere. “Thank you for coming all this way, Augustus. I hope you enjoy the rest of the party.” With Rookwood glaring holes into their backs, Tom steered her away.

“Where’s Bella?” Hermione asked once they were far enough from Rookwood. She was afraid he would go torture Hannah and Lavender, but to her relief, he cast one disgusted look around the room before promptly leaving. She hoped that it would be the last she would see of him.

“Fainted.”

“She _fainted_?” Hermione repeated.

“Yes, she was trying to impress me with her knowledge of all the drinks.” Tom smirked. “I suggested that she tasted some, and she did so. I believe she got about halfway through the drinks before she collapsed.”

“She is okay, right?”

“I have no idea. I put her in the bathroom somewhere. Someone is bound to find her.”

“That’s unforgivable,” Hermione muttered, but she spotted someone upstairs carrying Bella down the stairs and placing her into a chair, where she slumped over. “Is that your plan? To get unsuspecting girls drunk?”

Tom shot her a secretive smile. “Let’s get you a drink, then.”

Hermione scowled at him, remembering the last time that she had been drunk. However, she let him pull her over to the drinks bar, where he ordered a bright blue colored beverage for her. She wrinkled her nose, but tried it anyway, deciding against her better judgment to trust him. It was cool with a tinge of orange, and Hermione decided that it was not as bad as she thought it would be.

“Excuse me?” Someone tapped on her shoulders.

She turned around and immediately wished she didn’t. “ _Why_ …?” she whined. Tom glanced over her shoulder and his face darkened slightly, though she was thankful that he didn’t just whip out his wand and curse the man.

“Hermione! Tom! What a pleasure to meet you again,” Richard Skeeter, the man who never seemed to know when he was unwanted, beamed at them. “May I have an interview about your blooming relationship? What about your victory in the Triwizard Tournament?” His wretched quill was next to him. “Any comments or statements you can make?”

Hermione opened her mouth to tell Skeeter to find other people to torture, but before she could do so, Tom grabbed the blue drink from Hermione’s hand and tipped it forwards. It drenched Skeeter head to toe, and his precious parchment was soaked.

“Oops.” Tom smiled. “I apologize. It seems my hand slipped.”

“Tom,” Hermione reprimanded him. “That was a waste of a good drink.”

Tom smirked at her. “If that was all you want from us, we have places to be. My condolences to your parchment.”

“Yes, yes, it’s very sad.” Hermione waved Tom off. “Tom and I would like to request that you please leave us alone for a while.”

“Preferably forever,” Tom muttered.

“It is a breach of privacy.” She smiled brightly at him. “I do not resort to threats, Mister Skeeter, but consider yourself warned.” She turned to Tom and dragged him away. “Come on, I need to show the birthday boy his gift.”

“My gift?” Tom drawled as Hermione brought them to their bedroom. His eyes darkened as he pressed Hermione against the wall, slanting his lips over hers. He caught her arms and pinned them above her head, closing the door quickly next to him.

“Tom, stop,” Hermione pushed him away. As much as she enjoyed the feeling of him, she had more important things to take care of first. “Don’t you want to see your birthday gift?”

“I assumed you were my gift,” Tom purred. “I was quite content indeed.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere with me.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Hermione smacked his arm playfully. “Well, I got another gift for you. I’m sure you’ll like it quite a lot.”

Tom made a noncommittal sound, but then by the look on his face, he felt it. He glanced down towards his leg and saw an enormous snake winding around his leg, hissing as it continued its way upwards.

“Meet your new best friend,” Hermione said cheekily. “Her name is Doom.”

-

Life was not perfect for the two of them. There were many instances where Hermione almost wanted to blast Tom’s face off, such as when Tom tried to turn her into a snake ‘to see if he could manipulate two female snakes into reproducing with each other.’ There was also the problem with Doom herself. At first, Hermione was content to just watch the two of them talk in their weird language. After awhile, however, she began feeling rather left out. She never understood what they were saying, and Tom made it a point to not tell her.

However, she learnt to deal with it, and gradually she began to warm up to the snake. Her life improved slowly, and she became eligible to receive a job. She worked at the Ministry during the day—making sure that fair laws for _all_ people were passed—and she moved in with Tom, whom she spent her evenings with. There were arguments and debates, but they would always find a way to compromise without destroying _too_ many things.

She kept in touch with all her friends. Some of the girls needed a bit of help to get started in their new lives, and Hermione lent a helping hand whenever she could. She met with Ginny, Ron and Harry every Sunday for tea. Bella came over far too often for Hermione’s liking, spending a majority of her time staring at Tom, but Hermione eventually warmed up to the girl as well. She held a feast every month at her house where she invited everyone she knew to come and enjoy themselves. It was on their fourth feast that Pollux showed up, looking happier and more carefree than she had ever seen him.

All was well.

In the corner of Hermione’s and Tom’s bedroom, the Triwizard Cup sat on a cabinet, glittering softly in the darkness.

****

**_Fin_ **

 


End file.
